LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 


BY 
KATHLEEN  NORRIS 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY 
A.   I.  KELLER 


GARDEN   CITY,  N.  Y. ,   AND  TORONTO 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1922 


COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BY 
KATHLEEN   NORRIS 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 

COPYRIGHT.  1921,  1922,  BY  THE  PICTORIAL  REVIEW  COMPANY 

PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES 

AT 
THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 

First  Edition 


TO 
MARY-GENEVIEVE  AND  EDMUND  MARKS 

In  the  full  cup  of  your  felicity; 

Who  have  of  life  and  love  so  rich  a  store, 
Let  this  small  gift  from  one  who  loves  you  be 

One  little  drop  the  more. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"In  the  eery  candle-light  her  strange  eyes  blazed 

like  topazes" Frontispiece 


FACING  PAGE 


'She  met  Stephen's  smiling  greeting  with  dignity, 
and  only  the  quick  flicker  of  a  smile"  .  .  .  140 

' '  Now  you  must  go/  she  said  in  a  dry  voice 
.  .  .  'Fred  knows  all  about  our  having 
found  each  other" 260 

"He  could  despise  me,  and  I  would  win  him! 
He  could  be  tied  a  thousand  times,  and  I 
would  go  to  him  .  .  . '  284 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 


CHAPTER  I 

IN  THE  long  drawing-room  of  the  stately  home  of 
Judge  Samuel  Curran  and  Bessy  Emerson  Curran, 
his  wife,  there  reigned  an  utter,  almost  an  uncanny 
silence.  Yet  there  were  six  persons  seated  there, 
any  one  of  whom,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  might 
have  been  considered  equal  to  the  demands  of  a  more 
or  less  brilliant  conversation. 

The  room  was  large,  softly  and  beautifully  lighted, 
delightfully  warm  on  this  cold  winter  night.  A  fire 
of  great  logs  had  fallen  to  pink  embers  in  the  big  fire- 
place; dim  lamps  here  and  there  picked  out  a  detail 
of  the  handsome  rugs,  the  orderly  ranged  backs  of 
leather  books,  the  great  piano  holding  an  immense 
brass  jar  of  chrysanthemums,  the  subdued  richness 
of  hangings  and  walls.  Wide  spaces  were  broken  by 
polished  mahogany  surfaces  bearing  potted  ferns; 
above  the  mantel  were  the  large  oil  portraits  of  the 
handsome  old  white-haired  Judge,  and  his  plump, 
comfortable,  be-jewelled  wife. 

Outside  in  the  darkness,  a  rain-storm  was  howling 
over  Sanbridge,  a  prosperous  little  city  placed  some- 
where between  Boston  and  New  York,  and  drawing 
its  intellectual  ideals  from  the  one  as  surely  as  it  drew 
its  fashions  and  amusements  from  the  other.  But 


£  UjCRETIA  LOMBARD 

inside  was  the  luxury,  the  beauty,  and  peace  that  the 
jurist  and  his  wife  had  known  for  all  their  thirty-odd 
years  together.  In  the  big,  spacious,  and  spotless 
pantry,  young  Emma  and  Bobby,  the  chauffeur,  were 
gossiping  as  they  prepared  the  usual  half-past-ten 
o'clock  tray  of  coffee  and  sandwiches.  Upstairs, 
turning  down  the  beds  in  the  big,  warm,  orderly  bed- 
rooms, Nancy,  and  Lizzie  were  deep  in  talk.  But  in 
the  drawing-room  there  was  silence. 

Presently  it  was  broken  by  a  girl's  voice. 

"Don't  push  it,  Fred!" 

"I'm  not  pushing,"  a  young  man's  breezy,  ready 
tones  answered  cheerfully,  almost  as  if  he  were  pleased 
to  speak.  "I  give  you  my  word  as  a  gentleman  of  the 
old  school  that— 

"Oh,  hush,  Fred!"  an  older  voice,  chiding  and 
maternal,  said  impatiently.  And  again  stillness  spread 
itself  over  the  long  room,  and  the  slishing  attack  of 
gusts  of  wind  and  rain  against  the  windows  and  the 
comfortable  crackling  of  a  fallen  ember  of  wood,  made 
themselves  pleasantly  heard. 

"It's  moving,"  said  an  extraordinarily  rich  and 
poignant  voice,  suddenly.  The  words  lingered  on  the 
air  like  the  notes  of  a  bell.  And  after  an  interval 
several  voices  said  together,  "S-s-sh-sh!" 

Of  the  six  persons  seated  about  the  round  bare 
table — that  was  empty  except  for  the  little  heart- 
shaped  planchette  board  in  the  centre,  and  the  three 
or  four  hands  that  were  laid  upon  the  planchette— 
two  were  the  kindly  originals  of  the  portraits  over 
the  mantel.  Judge  Samuel  Curran  was  well  past 
sixty,  his  wife  a  few  years  younger.  Both  were  in- 
clined to  grow  heavy,  but  while  the  Judge  wore  his 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  3 

extra  weight  becomingly,  seeming  to  increase  in  smile 
and  twinkle  as  he  increased  in  girth,  his  wife,  like  all 
the  women  of  her  type  and  generation,  had  been 
pummelled,  corseted,  massaged  into  shapeliness;  her 
pretty  middle-aged  face  showed  the  hours  of  care 
it  cost  her,  her  gray  hair  was  elaborately  and  carefully 
dressed.  All  the  girls  of  Sanbridge  loved  "Aunt 
Bessy,"  and  told  her  that  she  was  prettier  than  any 
one  of  them,  and  she  believed  them,  and  starved  and 
struggled  on  courageously,  never  enjoying  a  meal,  and 
rarely  free  from  actual  hunger  between  meals. 

Next  to  her  to-night,  with  her  dark  gipsy  face  glow- 
ing with  excitement  and  absorption,  was  the  dearest 
thing  in  the  life  of  these  elderly  persons,  their  ward, 
the  daughter  of  the  closest  friends  they  had  ever  had, 
the  legacy  that  had  supplied  them  with  responsibility 
and  delight  for  almost  twenty  years.  This  was  Mary 
Yolande  Warren,  nicknamed  "Mimi"  in  the  days  of 
her  endearing  and  orphaned  babyhood,  and  Mimi 
still  to  those  who  loved  her. 

She  was  not  quite  pretty,  but  there  was  every  evidence 
of  charm,  good  sense,  and  humor  in  the  young  face: 
she  was  astonishingly  vivacious,  and  brimming  with 
healthy  mischief  and  energy.  Her  eyes  were  black, 
under  a  silky  cloud  of  black  hair,  her  cheeks  crimson, 
her  mouth,  her  joyous  laugh,  never  long  silent.  Her 
gown  was  one  of  the  odd  oriental  robes  she  often  wore 
in  the  house;  there  were  big  pearls  in  her  ears  and  these 
and  a  bizarre  chain  of  Chinese  beads  hanging  about  her 
slender  throat,  gave  her  to-night,  at  this  occult  enter- 
prise, the  air  of  a  youthful  seer. 

Mimi  was  an  unmitigated  satisfaction  to  her  guar- 
dians, just  naughty  enough  as  a  child,  just  unconven- 


4  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

tional  enough  as  a  young  woman,  to  add  spice  to 
everything  with  which  she  came  in  contact.  She  was 
adored  still  by  the  girl  friends  who  had  shared  school 
and  college  days  with  her;  she  was  just  good  enough 
at  golf  and  tennis  and  riding  and  boating  and  dancing 
to  be  always  distinguished  without  ever  being  con- 
spicuous. Her  wealth,  the  Warren  money,  and  the 
Warren  interests,  had  not  spoiled  Mimi.  Upon  reach- 
ing the  age  of  twenty-one  more  than  a  year  ago,  she 
had  most  sensibly  and  charmingly  pleaded  to  be 
allowed  to  remain  with  the  Currans;  and  here  she 
was,  the  adored  daughter  of  the  house,  with  the  two 
nephews  who  were  more  like  sons  here,  to  serve  her 
in  the  place  of  big  brothers. 

Next  to  Mimi  sat  the  younger  of  these  nephews, 
Fred  Winship,  handsome,  largely  built,  fair-skinned 
and  fair-haired,  and  just  now  with  his  customary 
look  of  amusement  and  interest  slightly  touched  with 
incredulity  and  something  a  little  like  ashamed  self- 
consciousness.  Fred  had  always  been  affectionate, 
always  endearing  and  delightful  and  droll,  but  he  had 
been  as  much  a  car^e  as  Mimi  had  been  a  delight,  and 
traced  about  the  handsome  mouth  were  faint  signs 
of  looseness  and  weakness,  and  etched  about  the  con- 
fident eyes  were  microscopic  lines.  There  was  some- 
thing not  quite  hard,  not  quite  sneering,  lying  like 
a  cloud  across  his  beauty  even  now,  when  the  near- 
ness of  Mimi  Warren  was,  as  always,  bringing  out  in 
him  what  was  finest  and  best. 

The  fifth  person  at  the  table  was  Mrs.  Curran's 
girlhood  friend  and  life-long  neighbor,  Mrs.  Cyrus 
Porter,  who,  with  Mrs.  Curran,  was  the  dictator  in 
social  and  philanthropic  matters  in  Sanbridge,  some- 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  5 

thing  vain,  something  of  a  snob  in  manner,  but  under- 
neath the  surface  only  a  simple,  good-hearted,  small- 
town woman,  interested  alike  in  friends  and  foes, 
and  anxious  only  not  to  get  thin  to  the  worrying  point, 
and  go  into  a  decline  like  poor  Ma  and  Mabel. 

Last  in  the  circle,  and  with  one  of  her  beautiful  bare 
hands  laid  upon  the  toy,  was  a  woman  who  was  almost 
a  stranger  to  this  group  and  to  the  city,  whose  in- 
troduction into  their  midst  to-night  was  the  result 
of  a  little  social  mischance,  but  whose  frank  and 
simple  interest  in  what  they  were  doing  had  already 
gained  the  graces  of  them  all. 

Sanbridge,  like  all  similarly  situated  cities,  fre- 
quently drew  strange  residents  from  the  greater  cities, 
and  to  Sanbridge,  it  had  become  gradually  known, 
during  the  past  few  months,  had  moved,  from  England, 
via  the  Argentine  and  New  York,  a  certain  Allen 
Lombard — rumor  even  hinted  a  "Sir"  before  his 
name — and  his  wife.  Doctor  Gedney  knew  them, 
was  actually  treating  the  man,  who  was  an  invalid. 
A  quiet,  soberly  clad  "Mrs.  Lombard"  had  appeared 
at  the  Red  Cross  rooms  during  the  last  months  of 
the  War,  and  Mrs.  Porter,  and  Mrs.  Curran,  and 
sometimes  on  Thursday  afternoons,  when  the  young 
girls  of  the  nicest  set  came  to  sew,  Mimi,  had  talked 
to  her  there. 

To-night,  by  appointment,  Mrs.  Lombard  had  called 
to  discuss  committee  work  with  Mrs.  Porter,  as  presi- 
dent of  the  Red  Cross.  And,  the  storm  keeping 
everyone  else  away,  Mrs.  Porter  had  suggested  their 
going  in  next  door,  to  see  Mrs.  Curran,  who  was  one 
of  the  vice-presidents.  And  finally  coming  in  to 
this  warm,  delightful  drawing-room,  they  had  found 


6  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

Mimi,  and  the  Currans,  and  Fred,  seated  about  a 
small  round  table,  and  between  amusement  and  in- 
credulity and  scorn  over  their  first  experiment  with 
the  occult. 

Everyone  had  gotten  up,  the  visitor  had  been  intro- 
duced to  the  old  Judge;  all  the  others  knew  her,  even 
Fred,  who  surprised  them  with  the  pleasure  and 
friendliness  of  his  greeting.  He  had  been  at  her 
house,  had  played  cribbage  with  her  husband,  it 
appeared,  and  she  had  a  cordial,  almost  affectionate 
smile  for  the  handsome  big  eager  boy. 

After  a  moment  or  two  of  laughing  awkwardness 
over  their  occupation,  the  experiment  with  planchette 
was  resumed.  Mrs.  Lombard  admitted  an  interest  in 
it,  but,  like  themselves,  she  was  half-amused  and  half- 
ashamed  in  saying  so. 

Another  log  was  thrown  on  the  fire,  lights  were  again 
dimmed  and  the  circle  formed  about  the  table.  The 
matter  had  assumed  a  new  dignity  with  the  entrance 
of  this  unknown  and  interesting  Mrs.  Lombard. 

She  was  a  tall,  beautifully  made  woman,  whose 
face  and  voice  and  manner  instantly  proclaimed  the 
gentlewoman.  She  laid  aside  her  umbrella,  and  her 
plain,  old-fashioned  cloak,  and  quite  simply  took  her 
place  among  them,  about  the  table.  The  close  feath- 
ered hat  that  came  down  almost  to  her  eyebrows  kept 
them  from  seeing  her  face  fairly,  but  it  was  a  charm- 
ing, even  a  lovely  face;  skin,  eyes,  and  a  glimpse  of 
hair,  all  a  warm,  clear  brown,  cheeks  almost  colorless, 
and  the  fine  wide  mouth  that  showed  her  dazzling 
teeth  supplying  a  note  of  crimson.  Above  her  wed- 
ding ring,  as  the  older  women  instantly  noted,  a  mag- 
nificent diamond  shone.  She  put  only  her  right  hand 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  7 

on  the  board,  and  as  the  seance  proceeded,  had  little 
to  say.  She  knew  nothing  of  spirit  writing,  she  had 
confessed,  had  hever  seen  it  tried  before. 

It  was  Mrs.  Lombard  who  had  said  that  the  board 
was  moving,  and  almost  immediately  she  removed  her 
hand,  an  odd  look  in  her  eyes. 

"Now,  you  were  pushing  it  .  .  ."  she  said  to 
Fred  Winship.  He  laughed,  delightedly. 

"I  give  you  my  word  I  wasn't!" 

"Take  your  hands  off,  Fred,"  Mimi  commanded, 
breathing  hard,  her  eyes  almost  frightened. 

Fred  obediently  removed  his  hands,  his  aunt  im- 
mediately doing  the  same  with  her  own  soft  fat  fingers. 

"It's — creepy!"  she  whispered. 

"It's  moving!"  said  Mrs.  Lombard's  extraordinary 
voice  again. 

The  pencil  was  making  rapid  twirls  and  circles; 
Mimi's  slender  figure  and  gipsy  head  swaying  with 
its  quick  motion.  All  the  others,  except  Mrs.  Lom- 
bard, were  merely  absorbed  watchers  now. 

"Well,  that's  extraordinary!"  said  the  Judge.  "It's 
actually  trying  to  write.  Does  it  say  anything?  Read 
it,  Mimi!" 

"It's  repeating  and  repeating!"  Mimi  said.  She 
pushed  the  board  aside,  and  looked  at  the  pencilled 

sheet.      " No  end  and  no  beginning — no  end '     It's 

unmistakable!" 

"And  see,  up  here,  '.     .     .     and  no  beginning!" 
finished  Mrs.  Curran,  eagerly. 

"And  here's  the  same  thing  again,"  Mrs.  Porter  said. 

Mimi,  awed  and  enthralled,  looked  boldly  into  space. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  said,  clearly  and  unashamedly. 
"No  end  and  no  beginning  to  what?" 


8  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Say,  you've  got  to  ask  one  thing  at  a  time,  Mimi," 
Fred  warned  her.  "These  spooks " 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Fred!"  Mimi  said,  wearily.  "Who 
are  you? — Oh,  look,  it's  jerking  my  arm  off!"  she 
gasped. 

There  were  more  rapid  scrolls,  they  saw  the  word 
"  gr — grn — grd — grace — grace — grace 

"Grace!"  said  all  the  women,  exchanging  question- 
ing glances. 

"Grace  who?"  puzzled  Mrs.  Porter.  "We  had  a 
cook  named  Grace,  but  she  was  colored.  Still " 

"There's  Grace  Leonard — but  she  isn't  dead!" 
Mrs.  Curran  pondered.  "Grace — wasn't  that  little 
Middleton  girl  that  you  used  to  go  to  dancing-school 
with  named  Grace,  Mimi?  That  family  that  moved 
to  Minneapolis?" 

"But  she's  not  dead,  Aunt  Bessy!" 

"Why,  she  might  be,  dear.  You  haven't  seen  or 
heard  anything  of  her  for  years " 

"I  don't  know  any  Grace,"  Mrs.  Lombard  said, 
thoughtfully.  "We  might  ask  for  the  last  name." 

"She's  been  an  actress,  with  that  voice!"  Mrs. 
Curran  thought. 

It  was  agreed  to  ask  planchette  for  the  second  name. 
There  was  a  flurry  of  scrolling;  Mrs.  Lombard  took 
her  hand  from  the  board. 

"I  think  you  are  the  really  occult  one,  Miss  Warren," 
she  explained. 

"Right.  Mary  understands,"  planchette  imme- 
diately confirmed. 

"Mary?"  questioned  Mrs.  Lombard,  glancing  up. 

"My  name  is  Mary!"  Mimi  explained,  in  a  quick 
aside.  "It's  writing  something !" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  9 

"April  second,"  the  pencil  scrolled  quickly  and 
evenly.  "Now  that  is  what  is  so  dark — you  must 
not — terrible " 

"I  declare,  I  don't  like  it!"  said  Mrs.  Curran,  a 
little  pale. 

"It's  just  foolishness,  Aunt  Bessy,"  Fred  said, 
lighting  a  cigarette.  "It's  Mimi's  subliminal  con- 
sciousness— that's  all." 

"Who  are  you?"  Mimi  demanded  again.  The 
pencil  jerked  so  rapidly  that  the  pretty  sunburned 
hands  were  twisted  to  and  fro  wildly.  "I  can't  tell 
what  it's  writing!"  she  whispered,  half-laughing. 

"Bohn — Bohn — Bohn,"  planchette  wrote.  "It  is 
in  Bohn." 

"What  is  your  name?"  insisted  Mrs.  Lombard's  bell- 
like  voice. 

"Grace  Field,"  was  rapidly  written.  This  was 
scratched  out.  "Delia  Field,  Grace  and  Delia — this 
is  not  Delia,"  scribbled  planchette.  "Grace  Grace 
Grace." 

"Are  you  somebody  named  Grace  who  wants  to  talk 
to  us?"  Mimi  asked.  "I  know  the  pencil  is  going 
to  write  'yes'-"  she  added  in  distress,  as  it  made  a 
graceful  sweep  and  began  the  first  letter  of  the  word. 
"Oh,  I  hope  I'm  not  cheating!" 

"  Money  got  by  cheating  don't  do  nobody  no  good, 
little  girl,"  Fred  interpolated,  morally. 

"Does  anyone  here  know  you,  Grace?"  Mrs.  Porter 
said,  with  a  little  nervous  titter. 

"No.  Nobody — nobody,"  wote  the  pencil  promptly. 
Mrs.  Curran  sat  back,  a  little  discouraged. 

"When  there  are — so  many — there,  whom  we  know!" 
she  offered  dubiously. 


10  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"In  the  arbor,"  resumed  the  pencil.  "In  the 
arbor — but  George  had  to  go  back!" 

This  was  repeated  several  times,  and  Mimi  looked 
about  the  group  doubtfully. 

"I'm  afraid  it's  writing  rubbish,"  she  admitted. 
"Just  what's  in  my  head!" 

"I  wouldn't  say  that  that  was  in  your  head,  dear," 
Fred  said,  kindly.  "You  are  young!  Read  good  books, 
cultivate  intelligent  friends — 

"Oh,  shut  up!"  Mimi  whispered,  entirely  without  ani- 
mosity, and  without  removing  her  eyes  from  the  board. 

"It  was  my  fault,"  wrote  planchette.  "It  will  be 
all  happiness!  But  you  must  not — Steve  must  not 
— tell  Steve  he  must  not— 

"Steve!"  gasped  several  voices.  "Does  it  say 
'Steve'?" 

"Stephen  is  my  other  nephew,"  Mrs.  Curran  said 
to  Mrs.  Lombard. 

The  agitated  scrolls  and  twists  died  away  into  mere 
scalloping  and  looping,  sometimes  facing  one  way, 
sometimes  another. 

"Steve  must  not  .  .  ."  began  the  pencil  once 
more. 

"Must  not  what?"  demanded  Mimi. 

"This  generation  must  not  ask  for  a  sign,"  suggested 
the  Judge. 

"I  know,  Sam!  That's  exactly  what  I  feel!"  his 
wife  added,  nervously. 

"There  is  fire,"  wrote  planchette.  "But  after  the 
fire  you  will  be  happy." 

"Who  will?  "the  girl  asked. 

"Burchisons.  Go  by  Burchisons,"  the  pencil  scrib- 
bled, rapidly.  "You  must  go  by  Burchisons!" 


LUCRETTA  LOMBARD  11 

"There  is  an  old  road,  somewhere  up  near  Red  Pine," 
Mimi  exclaimed,  struck.  "I've  heard  the  name 
'Burchisons  Road'!  Isn't  that  funny?" 

"You  may  have  remembered  it  without  meaning 
to,  Mimi,"  said  Mrs.  Porter. 

"Happiness  for  everyone,  no  more  trouble!"  wrote 
planchette. 

"Happiness  for  whom?"  demanded  Fred. 

"For '  the  pencil  began.  "It's  going  to  write 

'for  Mimi',"  Mimi  herself  said,  smiling.  "Well,  I'm 
going  to  be  happy,  anyway!" 

"Let  me  run  it  five  seconds,  and  I'll  bet  you  I'm 
going  to  be  happy,  too,"  Fred  offered. 

Mimi,  ignoring  him,  asked  the  old  question: 

"Who  is  this,  writing?" 

"Grace,"  was  instantly  written.  "Grace  F — Field. 
April  second." 

"Grace  Field!"  Mrs.  Curran  exclaimed.  "That 
name  sounds  familiar!  Don't  we  know  any  Grace 
Field — no,  we  don't!"  she  finished,  subsiding,  after 
some  thought. 

"And  have  you  a  message,  Grace?"  Mimi  asked,  pa- 
tiently. 

"Be  friends.  But  L.  must  go  back,"  was  written 
with  feverish  swiftness,  in  a  gradually  diminishing 
script.  "It's  too  bad — it's  too  bad — it  is  too  bad— 

When  this  had  been  repeated  a  score  of  times,  Mimi 
paused. 

"Is  this  Grace?" 

"Yes.  This  is  not  Delia.  Delia — this  is  hard. 
This  is  very  hard.  Delia  and  Grace.  April  second. 
April  second." 

"What  do  you  want?" 


12  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"To  give  back — to  have  him  understand — to  give 
him — bohn — bohn — bohn " 

"It  is  the  colored  cook! "Fred  said,  pleased.  "Sure's 
you're  bohn!" 

"Oh,  Fred,  you  ruin  everything  with  your  idiocies!" 
Mimi  broke  out,  angrily,  pushing  the  planchette  away, 
and  rising,  excited  and  nervous,  from  the  table.  "No- 
body can  do  anything  while  you're  about!  And  I 
think  we  were  just  going  to  get  something,  Aunt 
Bessy!" 

The  Judge  had  touched  a  switch,  pleasant  light 
flooded  the  room.  Lizzie,  who  had  her  own  religious 
convictions,  and  considered  this  sort  of  thing  as  sinful 
and  dangerous,  came  in  with  the  heavy  silver  tray. 

"Yes,  we'll  have  some  coffee!"  Mrs.  Curran  said, 
relievedly.  "Put  that  thing  away,  Mimi.  It  makes 
me  nervous,  and  I  don't  like  it!" 

"No,  but  you  do  think  there's  something  queer 
about  it!"  the  girl  said  eagerly. 

"Well,  there  is — when  it  jerks  about  under  your 
fingers  that  way!"  the  elderly  woman  conceded. 

Mrs.  Lombard  sat  thoughtful  in  her  big  chair. 

"L.  might  be  me,"  she  said,  smiling.  "My  name 
begins  with  L.  But  isn't  it  supposed  to  be  someone 
who  is  dead?  Sir  Allen  has  a  daughter  Louise,  but 
she  isn't  dead.  She's  living  in  England  with  her 
husband!" 

The  women  all  heard  it,  although  nobody  gave  a 
sign  of  doing  so.  It  was  Sir  Allen  then! 

"We  had  a  garbage  man  named  Leonardo,"  Fred 
supplied,  brightly.  "He  and  his  wife  and  two  children 
died  from  ptomaine  poison  after  a  family  wedding. 
It  was  in  the  paper. — Oh,  say,  aren't  you  going  to  have 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  13 

some  coffee?"  he  interrupted,  anxiously,  as  Mrs.  Lom- 
bard rose.  Her  wistful  eyes  lingered  on  the  fireside 
chairs,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"Mr.  Lombard  will  be  anxious  about  me,"  she  said, 
deliberately  correcting  the  former  slip.  "He  is  not 
well,  you  know " 

"But  just  a  cup  of  coffee?"  pleaded  Mrs.  Curran, 
everything  else  forgotten  in  hospitable  solicitude. 

"I'm  sorry.  But  truly — it's  after  ten  now.  And 
we  keep  very  early  hours.  The  rain  seems  to  have 
stopped." 

"I'll  send  you,  of  course,"  said  the  Judge.  "Lizzie? 
will  you  ask  Bobby " 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Lombard,  without  protest. 
"Will  you  come  and  play  cribbage  with  Mr.  Lombard 
one  of  these  evenings,  Fred?"  she  said,  buttoning  her 
coat;  "and  will  you  bring  your  occult  little  cousin 
to  have  tea  with  me  some  time?" 

"Once  and  for  all,  she's  not  my  cousin!"  said  Fred, 
with  his  wild  laugh. 

"Indeed,  I'd  love  to  come  to  tea,"  Mimi  said,  still 
holding  the  visitor's  hand,  "and  let's  set  the  day  now. 
Thursday?" 

"Thursday."  Mrs.  Lombard  was  pleased.  "Fred 
knows  where  my  funny  little  house  is." 

"In  Kingsgreen  Square,  Aunt  Bessy,"  Fred  said. 
"Right  opposite  the  old  Curran  home!  There's  a 
second-hand  book-store  in  the  house  now." 

"Kingsgreen  Square — shucks,  you  don't  say  so," 
beamed  the  Judge.  "Bessy  and  I  were  children 
down  there!  I  haven't  been  in  that  part  of  town  for 
years  and  years!" 

"You  have  to  cross  a  horrid  region  to  get  there,  but 


14  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

it  is  quiet,  and  near  the  library,"  Mrs.  Lombard  ex- 
plained. "We  are  in  the  old  rectory  of  the  church, 
there " 

"Saint  Thomas',  where  we  were  married!"  Mrs. 
Curran  supplied.  "Think  of  that,  Ella,"  she  said  to 
Mrs.  Porter.  "I  am  coming  down  there  some  day  to 
see  you,"  she  added,  with  something  less  than  cor- 
diality and  certainty  in  her  voice. 

"Do,"  Mrs.  Lombard  answered,  with  just  enough 
civility. 

"You  know  I  was  going  to  take  my  brother  down 
there,  to  talk  Buenos  Aires  with  Mr.  Lombard," 
Fred  said.  "If  I  can,  I'll  get  hold  of  him  on  Thurs- 
day, hey,  Mi  mi?" 

"We  can  try,"  conceded  Mimi,  wondering  how  much 
her  face  showed  what  her  heart  experienced  when- 
ever Stephen  was  mentioned. 

"My  nephew  Stephen,  Fred's  older  brother,  is  our 
district  attorney,"  the  Judge  said,  with  a  paternal 
pride.  He  rocked  Mimi  with  an  embracing  arm,  as 
she  stood  leaning  against  him.  "He  and  I  shared  the 
responsibility  of  this  young  lady  after  her  father's 
death,"  he  said  fondly. 

"That  must  have  been  a  dreadful  strain!  But  I 
knew  Fred  was  very  proud  of  his  brilliant  brother," 
Mrs.  Lombard  said  pleasantly  and  easily,  smiling  her 
farewells.  "No,  Fred — please  don't  bother!"  they 
heard  her  say  in  the  hallway.  But  Fred  caught  his  hat 
and  coat,  and  went  out  with  her  into  the  darkness. 

"Now,  I  don't  know  whether  you're  cross  with  me 
for  bringing  her  here  or  not,  Bessy!"  said  Mrs.  Porter, 
settling  comfortably  down  before  the  fire  for  a  gossip, 
when  they  went  back  into  the  sitting-room.  "It 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  15 

seemed  the  only  thing  to  do.     And  we've  not  done  one 
thing  about  the  committee!" 

"I  think  she  is  perfectly  lovely!"  said  Mimi,  on  the 
arm  of  the  Judge's  chair. 

"Charming,  charming  woman!"  said  the  Judge, 
going  happily  to  sleep. 

"I  think — yes,  she's  very  nice,"  Mrs.  Curran  said. 
"I  believe— would  you,  Ella?  I  think  I'll  call.  Will 
you  drive  over  there  some  day  with  me,  Ella?" 

"Did  she  say  Sir  Allen?'  Mrs.  Porter  asked  in  a 
low  voice. 

They  exchanged  serious  glances. 

"She  most  certainly  did,"  said  Mimi. 

"But  Fred's  friends  are  often  so — so  queer!"  hesi- 
tated his  aunt.  "Titled  people? — you  really  don't 
know  a  thing  about  'em !  And  Kingsgreen  Square — 

"Loveliest  part  of  the  city,"  droned  the  Judge,  from 
under  his  silk  handkerchief. 

"Yes,  it  is  really — just  that  block  or  two,  although 
the  neighborhood  is  awful.  I'll  tell  you,  Mimi,  you 
can  judge  a  lot  better  when  you've  been  there  to  tea!" 
Mrs.  Curran  said  in  relief.  "There's  Fred  coming 
back,"  she  added,  hearing  steps  in  the  hall,  "he  can 
tell  us  about  them!" 

But  it  was  her  older  nephew  who  came  in,  cold, 
storm-blown,  and  breathless,  to  the  fire.  The  women 
rearranged  themselves  with  a  welcoming  exclamation 
of  "Stephen!"  and  Mimi,  in  whose  face  all  the  roses 
of  June  had  suddenly  bloomed,  brought  a  cup  of 
coffee  to  his  chair. 

"Here,  don't  you  wait  on  me,  Mimi!"  Stephen 
Winship  said,  with  his  own  inimitable  smile  of  affec- 
tion and  content  brightening  his  face. 


16  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Oh,  Steve,  you've  missed  such  fun!"  the  girl 
said,  eagerly.  "What  do  you  think  we  were  doing— 
planchette!  And  Fred's  friend,  Mrs.  Allen  Lombard, 
was  here — and  she's  lovely — and,  Steve,.  I'm  occult — 
really  I  am!  The  pencil  simply  jerked  ^tnd  flew  for 
me,  didn't  it,  Aunt  Bessy?" 

Stephen  watched  her,  smiling  indulgently.  It  was 
good  to  get  back  from  an  ugly  and  lonely  death-bed 
where  testimony  had  been  recorded  from  dying  lips, 
through  wild  and  bitter  weather,  to  this  comfortable 
fireside,  this  welcome,  this  pretty  fragrant  girl  with 
her  dark  and  dancing  eyes. 

He  was  thirty;  shorter  than  his  brother,  and  not 
so  handsome — not  handsome  at  all  by  any  ordinary 
standard.  But  there  radiated  from  his  fine  gray 
eyes,  and  from  his  firm,  well-set  mouth,  and  from 
his  ready,  intelligent  smile,  something  so  warming, 
so  winning,  and  so  universally  friendly,  that  it  must 
be  a  hard  heart  that  could  pause  to  analyze  his  ap- 
peal. Stephen  in  his  office,  in  his  club,  and  among 
his  friends  was  without  a  rival.  His  name  was  the 
first  upon  every  list,  whether  it  was  for  a  dance,  a 
municipal  committee,  an  art  contest,  or  a  big  charity 
concert.  Dozens  of  girls  had  loved  other  men,  and 
married  other  men,  without  ever  dislodging  Stephen 
Winship  from  a  little  special  niche  upon  their  altars, 
or  ever  feeling  that  Christmas  was  quite  Christmas 
without  a  word  from  him.  Dozens  of  young  club 
men  made  other  men  their  chums,  without  forgetting 
that  whatever  Steve  Winship  said  and  did  was  the 
supremely  admirable  and  desirable  thing.  He  worked 
hard,  and  went  little  into  society;  the  one  real  passion 
of  his  life,  as  all  the  world  knew,  was  his  brother  Fred, 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  17 

But  he  was  welcome  everywhere,  and  it  was  tacitly 
conceded  that  the  woman  he  married  would  be  the 
acknowledged  leader  of  the  Sanbridge  socially  elect. 

And  everything  pointed  to  Mimi  Warren  as  that 
woman.  His  uncle  and  aunt  had  hoped  for  it  for 
twenty  years,  and  Mimi  had  adored  him  with  all  the 
fervor  of  her  earnest  young  heart  almost  since  baby- 
hood. Fred  flirted  with  her;  she  played  with  Fred. 
But  to  Stephen  she  had  long  ago  given  all  her  soul  had 
to  give  of  utter  devotion.  In  return  she  had  only  the 
shadowy  consolation  that  at  least  he  liked  no  other 
woman  better  than  herself,  and  that  she  had  no  more 
loyal  friend  and  champion  in  the  world.  With  Judge 
Curran,  he  had  been  joint  guardian  of  her  person  and 
her  property  until  her  twenty-first  birthday.  He  had 
always  been  devoted  to  her  in  a  big-brotherly  way. 

And  just  lately — just  during  the  past  week  or  two — 
all  life  had  become  roseate  and  miraculous  for  Mimi 
with  the  hope  that  he  cared  differently — that  he  was 
beginning  to  care,  as  she  did.  Surely — surely  he  was 
developing  a  new  fashion  of  being  at  home  for  dinner, 
surely  he  was  taking  more  interest  in  his  little  grown-up 
ward's  music,  friends,  employments,  and  amusements 
than  he  had  formerly.  Mimi's  spirit,  as  it  were,  held 
its  breath,  waiting,  watching,  wondering. 

"And  did  Mrs.  Lombard  introduce  the  planchette?" 
Stephen  said  to-night,  over  his  steaming  cup.  "Is 
she — that  sort?" 

"Gracious,  no!"  Mimi  protested.  "She  said  she 
never  had  tried  it  before!" 

"Steve,  do  you  think  there's  anything  in  it?"  his 
aunt  asked  eagerly.  "I  don't  believe  it — not  all  of 
it — but  how  do  you  explain  it  ?  Can  you  explain  it  ? " 


18  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"It's  all  nonsense/'  Mrs.  Porter  added  uncertainly. 
"Some  of  it  is,  anyway.  But  sometimes  they  do  get 
remarkable  things!  It  actually  spelt  out  your  name, 
Steve." 

Stephen  smiled  in  weary,  contented  indifference, 
looked  comfortably  about  the  big  beautiful  room, 
stirred  his  cup,  and  gave  Mimi  one  of  his  indulgent, 
affectionate  glantes  that  never  failed  to  stir  her. 

"No,  but,  Steve,  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  she  urged 
him. 

"Why,  I  don't  know  a  thing  about  it,  or  Mrs.  Lom- 
bard," he  answered.  "Fred  makes  queer  friends 
sometimes ': 

"  But,  Steve,  we  want  you  to  go  to  tea  with  us  at  her 
house  on  Thursday,"  Mimi  told  him.  "They've 
been  in  the  Argentine,  you  know,  and  her  husband 
knows  all  about  it.  And  Fred  told  him  you  were 
interested  in  Buenos  Aires — you  will  go,  won't  you, 
Steve?" 

Stephen  smiled  at  her  in  silence. 

"I'll  do  anything  you  want  me  to  do,"  he  conceded, 
presently. 

Mrs.  Porter  had  gone  when  Fred  came  in,  but  the 
others  questioned  him;  he  answered  them  enthusias- 
tically. Wasn't  she  a  peach?  Sure,  he  knew  the 
Lombards,  had  known  them  almost  since  they  had 
moved  to  Sanbridge. 

"Doctor  Gedney  knows  them,"  said  Fred,  "met 
them  on  the  steamer  coming  up  from  Barbadoes. 
He  took  me  there  to  call  one  evening.  The  old  boy — 
he's  an  awful  crab,  plays  cribbage  and  that  sort  of 
thing; — paralytic  or  something.  He's  Scotch — Sir 
Allen " 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  19 

"Really,  Fred!  And  she's  Lady  Lombard?"  Mimi 
exclaimed. 

"Sure  she  is.  But  they  don't  use  it.  It's  one  of 
those  Scotch  titles;  he  isn't  in  the  Peerage,  you  know. 
She  told  me  they  had  dropped  it,  travelling.  But 
they're  fine  people,  honest  they  are,  Steve.  The 
English  consul  down  in  New  York  runs  up  to  see  them; 
— spent  last  Saturday  and  Sunday  there!" 

"Mr.  Davenport?"  Mrs.  Curran  asked,  eagerly. 
"Then  I'm  going!  I'll  go  there  next  week!" 

"Keyser  was  telephoning  all  over  the  place  for  you 
this  afternoon,  Fred,"  his  brother  said,  after  a  pause, 
with  a  half-quizzical  smile.  Fred  looked  uncomfortable. 

"He  telephoned  here  twice!"  his  aunt  added,  in 
mild  accusal.  Mimi  looked  distressed. 

"My  Lord,  that  old  boy  certainly  is  a  slave  driver!" 
Fred  observed,  unimpressed.  Keyser  was  the  old 
confidential  clerk  in  the  law  firm  of  Winship  and 
Winship.  Stephen  said  nothing  further,  he  had  drop- 
ped his  elbows  to  his  knees,  and  was  looking  thought- 
fully into  the  replenished  fire.  "What  happened," 
Fred  added,  a  little  uncomfortably,  "was  that  Jerry 
Stover  ran  me  out  to  the  club,  for  lunch,  and  Hicks 
— that's  the  professional  from  the  Singing  Hill  Club, 
was  there,  and  he  took  a  few  of  us  over  the  course. 
My  Lord,  I  never  saw  such  golf!  All  Stover  picked 
off  me  was  forty  bucks — that's  all.  That  feller " 

"I  met  him — he  was  up  there  this  morning,  when 
we  were  riding,"  Mimi  contributed,  animatedly.  "  Isn't 
he  ducky,  Fred!  Marjorie  can  imitate  him — oh,  I 
wish  I  could!" 

Stephen  glanced  at  his  brother,  glanced  back  at  his 
own  linked  fingers,  and  was  silent. 


20  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Nothing  doing  at  the  office  to-day,  anyway,  Steve!" 
Fred  said,  a  trifle  uneasily. 

Mimi  and  Mrs.  Curran  looked  unhappy;  the  Judge 
spoke  unexpectedly  from  under  his  handkerchief. 

"No  way  to  run  an  office,  Fred.  Steve  didn't  take 
you  into  that  firm  to  lose  money!" 

"Perhaps  I'm  not  so  damned  anxious  to  stay  in, 
if  it  comes  to  that!"  Fred  said,  bitterly. 

"You  had  a  chance  at  medicine,"  Stephen  said 
mildly.  "And  you  had  a  year  in  Billings'  office " 

"  But,  Steve,  Mr.  Billings  himself  said  that  architects 
are  born  and  not  made!"  Mimi  said,  eagerly.  "Don't 
— don't  be  cross  at  Fred  for  doing  just  what  Marjorie 
and  I  and  Ted  Rutger  are  doing  all  day  long!" 

She  had  gotten  to  her  feet,  and  now  Stephen  rose,  too, 
and  stood  looking  down  at  her  earnest,  concerned  face. 

"You're  twenty-two,  dear,"  he  said,  with  unusual 
tenderness.  "Fred's  twenty-eight!  You  have  a  for- 
tune, Mimi "  He  smiled.  "//  I  give  it  to  you!" 

he  warned  her. 

The  group  separated  for  the  night;  Fred  and  his 
brother  went  up  to  their  big  rooms  on  the  third  floor; 
the  Judge  and  his  wife  lighted  their  old-fashioned, 
luxurious  bedroom;  lights  were  put  out  downstairs, 
silence  and  sleep  held  the  Curran  mansion. 

But  for  another  half  hour— and  another — a  figure, 
wide-eyed  and  motionless,  was  curled  in  a  moon- 
lighted window  in  Mimi's  room.  And  through  the 
girl's  whirling  heart  and  brain  the  look  Stephen  had  given 
her  was  fading  and  swelling,  fading  and  swelling,  as  an 
undertone  to  the  ecstasy  of  the  rising,  strengthening 
hope  within  her.  The  storm  had  died  away,  a  strong 
wild  wind  was  blowing. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  £1 

Cold  bright  moonlight  lay  on  the  decorous  garden,  and 
on  the  tops  of  the  plumy  great  trees,  and  on  other  gardens 
and  trees,  all  down  beautiful  and  prosperous  Washing- 
ton Street.  The  Porter  garage,  next  door,  was  cut 
like  a  classic  little  house  of  stone  in  the  sharp  lights  and 
shadows.  Beside  the  rods  of  the  iron  fence  its  own 
clear  shadow  lay  on  the  misty  green  of  the  grass. 

This  was  Mimi's  world,  she  had  never  known  any 
other.  She  had  always  found  it  a  safe  and  happy  and 
loving  world.  But  now  it  was  something  more. 

"You're  twenty-two,  dear.  You  have  a  fortune, 
Mimi,  if  I  give  it  to  you ! " 

Nothing  in  the  words,  but  there  had  been  something 
new  in  Stephen's  voice,  even  at  that  troubled  and 
abstracted  moment!  Mimi  remembered  the  smile, 
it  was  as  if  he  had  been  glad  to  turn  from  Fred's  in- 
efficiencies to  something  real  and  true  that  she  could 
give  him. 

She  was  twenty-two;  she  was  alive  and  eager  in  every 
inch  of  the  silk-clad  form  that  was  huddled  here  in  the 
big  woolly  white  wrapper.  And  her  golden  hour  was 
close  upon  her. 


CHAPTER  II 

MRS.  LOMBARD,  after  a  good-night  to  Fred,  had  opened 
the  side  door  of  the  old  rectory  of  St.  Thomas',  in 
little  Kingsgreen  Square.  The  rain  had  stopped  now, 
but  ledges  and  roofs  everywhere  were  still  dripping  in 
the  gusty  dark,  a  full  moon  was  fighting  behind  stream- 
ing masses  of  cloud. 

She  went  quickly  up  a  short,  broad  flight  of  stairs; 
the  rectory  had  not  been  designed  for  its  present  use, 
and  its  arrangement  was  unconventional. 

The  old  church  was  closed  now,  and  the  basement 
of  the  rectory  was  stored  with  church  furniture  and 
hymn-books.  The  two  upper  floors  had  been  rented, 
as  a  somewhat  oddly  conceived  apartment,  to  the  man 
who  was  sitting,  pillowed  in  an  invalid's  chair,  in  the 
one  large  room  of  the  six,  and  to  the  returning  woman, 
his  wife. 

The  room  in  which  he  sat  was  long  and  low,  facing 
the  southwest,  and  lighted,  just  now,  by  a  dying  coal 
fire  and  a  green-shaded  lamp.  To  the  knowing  eye 
it  instantly  announced  itself  an  Englishman's  room; 
there  was  that  comfortable  mixture  of  homeliness  and 
richness,  that  independent,  almost  defiant  use  of  the 
useful,  the  beautiful,  and  the  wholly  domestic  that 
belongs  to  no  other  race. 

The  chairs  were  many  and  beautiful,  deep  leather 
chairs,  mahogany  chairs  with  broad  cane  seats  and 
spindle  arms,  and  one  inviting  old  shabby  chintz- 

22 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  23 

flounced  basket-chair,  with  a  tangle  of  knitting  laid 
upon  its  broad  arm-rest.  The  carpet  was  a  fine  old 
moquette,  tacked  from  baseboard  to  baseboard  in  the 
old-fashioned  way,  and  almost  covered  with  splendid 
rugs;  and  at  the  three  long,  cloistral  windows  fringed 
rep  curtains  were  looped  back  over  fine  transparent 
lengths  of  white  net.  There  was  a  square  piano  in  the 
room,  and  several  variegated  book-cases,  of  carved 
mahogany,  of  white-enamelled  pine,  and  one,  beside 
the  invalid's  chair,  a  revolving  stand,  of  ugly  yellow 
oak.  There  were  tables,  large  and  small,  a  student's 
green-shaded  lamp,  and  a  beautifully  severe  white, 
orange-shaded  lamp  of  pottery;  there  were  one  or  two 
large  dim  portraits  in  oil,  framed  etchings,  and  water- 
colors.  On  the  mantel  a  large  cracker-jar  of  cloisonne, 
and  a  traveller's  clock  in  shabby  green  leather,  stood 
between  wonderful  old  candlesticks  of  gay-flowered 
china,  on  the  tables  and  book-cases  were  odd  plates 
and  jars,  two  or  three  beautiful  china  tea-cups,  and  a 
caddy.  Two  canaries  were  silent  in  a  brass  cage  over 
which  a  silk  handkerchief  had  been  thrown.  Bowls 
full  of  flowers  were  everywhere,  winter  roses  in  glass, 
sturdy  pink  chrysanthemums  tumbling  in  a  china  jar, 
wild  huckle-berry  spreading  its  polished  small  leaves 
over  the  Chinese  mandarin  coat  on  the  piano,  and 
even  violets  in  the  tiny  silver  vase  that  stood  upon 
an  old-fashioned  high  desk  in  an  alcove  that  almost 
doubled  the  size  of  the  room.  And  everywhere  were 
the  inevitable  family  pnotographs  of  the  Englishman's 
sitting-room,  wherever  he  may  transplant  it,  dozens 
of  them.  There  was  a  family  group  on  the  mantel, 
long-maned  girls  in  their  awkward  teens  and  full- 
cheeked  boys  in  tennis  flannels,  pictured  on  the  steps 


24  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

of  some  boat-house,  a  stout  middle-aged  father,  and 
a  lean,  somewhat  unsympathetic-faced  mother  be- 
side them.  On  the  book-cases  were  faded  reminders 
of  the  last  century:  high-breasted  young  mothers 
with  plainly  coiled  heavy  hair  and  staring  infants,  foolish- 
looking  young  men  with  flowing  ties  and  neatly  crop- 
ped side-burns,  small  children  on  pony-back  by  ivied 
walls,  and  thin-faced,  crimped  women  who  sub- 
scribed themselves  in  dashing  letters  as  "Aunt  Flo" 
or  "affectionately,  Cousin  Madge."  A  large  framed 
photograph  on  the  revolving  book-case  was  of  a 
florid,  curly-headed,  middle-aged  man  in  hunting 
pinks,  under  whom  was  written  "Yours — Hetherin- 
leigh." 

The  room,  despite  this  heterogeneous  mixture,  which 
crowded  it,  was  specklessly  clean  and  orderly,  and 
possessed  a  quality  not  often  found  in  American  apart- 
ments, that  of  permanence.  One  felt,  upon  entering 
it,  that  life  was  established  here,  that  these  things 
were  valued  for  more  than  their  market  values,  and 
placed  and  treasured  thus  for  years,  would  still  be  so 
placed  and  treasured  when  other  years  had  gone. 
There  was  no  sense  of  temporary  botching,  nor  of  the 
choice  and  taste  of  paid  decorators  or  experienced 
collectors.  This  was  home,  and  these  dear  familiar 
chairs  and  tables  were  what  made  home. 

As  unmistakably  British  as  his  apartment  was  the 
man  who  sat  near  the  window,  near  the  fireside  and 
table,  and  close  to  the  oak  book-case.  Months  of  ex- 
periment had  shown  this  to  be  the  desirable  position 
for  his  chair,  and  a  trying  quarter  of  an  hour  every 
morning,  for  wife  and  maid,  was  that  in  which  they 
attempted  to  wheel  him  to  exactly  the  same  place  and 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  25 

attitude.  To  get  the  heat  of  the  coal  fire  that  burned 
all  day  behind  a  fender  of  polished  steel  rods,  to  reach 
the  table  easily  for  his  pipe  or  his  book,  to  see  from  the 
window  the  trees  and  balconies  and  iron  gratings  of 
little  Kingsgreen  Square,  without  having  the  loath- 
some walls  of  the  Fanning  Mattress  Factory  affront 
his  eyes,  this — as  he  sometimes  reiterated  plaintively, 
— was  all  he  asked.  It  did  seem — it  did  seem — extraor- 
dinary that  so  much  trouble  had  to  be  made  about  it. 

He  was  a  lean,  grizzled  man  of  perhaps  fifty-two  or 
three,  with  red  veins  upon  his  high  cheek-bones  giving 
an  unhealthy  and  uneven  floridity  to  his  long,  thin 
face.  His  gray  hair  was  long  and  curly,  his  nervous 
deformed  hands,  emerging  from  the  loose  sleeves  of 
his  bed-coat,  were  long,  too,  knotted  and  colorless.  He 
had  sharp  eyes,  under  bushes  of  wiry  black  brow  that 
almost  met  above  his  aquiline  nose,  and  his  harsh 
mouth  was  half-hidden  by  a  plunging  curve  of  black 
moustache.  About  him  were  the  evidences  of  his  im- 
prisonment: writing  materials  in  an  ornate  old  gift- 
case,  a  chessboard  with  a  problem  in  progress,  a  covered 
pitcher  of  water  and  a  tumbler,  and  hundreds  of 
books. 

With  his  wife,  returning,  came  a  rush  of  sweet, 
fresh  air.  She  looked  at  him  amiably,  nodded  to  his 
surly  glance,  and  disappeared,  to  reappear  a  few  mo- 
ments later  with  hat  and  coat  gone,  trim  now  in  a 
dark  gown  of  shabby  black  velvet,  with  plain  white  at 
her  throat.  A  clock  struck  eleven,  with  sweet  and 
silvery  deliberation,  another  clock  boomed  in  an  ad- 
joining room,  the  cuckoo  clock  beyond  the  piano, 
somewhere  in  dimness,  chirruped  mechanically.  A 
coal  broke  in  the  fire. 


26  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

Mrs.  Lombard  sank  into  the  chintz  chair  without 
speaking,  but  with  a  dutifully  keen  glance  that  took 
in  the  details  of  the  water  pitcher,  the  fire,  and  the 
general  condition  of  everything  in  the  invalid's  im- 
mediate neighborhood.  Her  hands,  fine  strong  hands 
that  seemed  somehow  older  than  her  young  face, 
busied  themselves  immediately  with  the  knitting, 
although  she  did  not  look  at  it  often,  as  the  silver 
needles  slipped  out  and  in. 

"Well/'  said  Allen  Lombard,  suddenly  breaking  the 
silence,  after  two  or  three  moments  when  his  lowering, 
restless  gaze  had  travelled  furtively  over  her.  "You 
decided  to  come  back?" 

"I  decided  to  come  back,"  she  answered,  evenly, 
giving  him  a  fleeting  look  quite  devoid  of  resentment. 

He  looked  at  the  fire,  bitter  discontent  in  his  face. 

"How  many  of  your  precious  committee  got  out  in 
the  storm?"  he  asked. 

"Not  one!  But  do  you  know,  Allen,  we  had  a  really 
quite  amusing  time!"  said  his  wife  aloud.  To  herself 
she  said,  "He  is  tired,  he  is  ill,  this  is  the  bad  time 
for  him! 

"Mrs.  Porter,"  she  resumed,  as  he  very  studiously 
refrained  from  any  mark  of  interest,  "lives  next  door 
to  Fred  Winship's  family,  Judge — Judge — I  am  so 
bad  at  names! — Curran.  I've  seen  old  Mrs.  Curran 
at  the  Red  Cross  rooms,  and  the  girl — she's  a  dear 
sweet  girl,  Miss  Warren.  She  seems  to  be  a  sort  of 
ward  of  theirs.  I  imagine  your  friend  Fred  is  in  love 
with  her." 

"You  mean  you  guess  so,"  suggested  his  lordship.. 

"Did  I  say  guess?"  his  wife  asked,  with  a  quick  flush. 

"Not  this  particular  time,  perhaps!" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  27 

"Oh?  Well,  we  tried  planchette,  Allen,"  said 
Mrs.  Lombard  courageously,  after  a  brief  silence. 
"He  is  tired,  and  sick,  and  this  is  the  worst  time!" 
she  reminded  herself.  "And  truly — but  do  you  be- 
lieve in  it  at  all  ? " 

"It  doesn't  seem  to  mean  much  to  you  that  some  of 
the  most  prominent  Englishmen  alive  do?"  he  asked, 
scathingly. 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  one  does  seem  to  want  per- 
sonal proof!  But,  Allen,"  said  his  wife,  "this  truly 
was  remarkable.  It  wrote  a  lot  of  rubbish  of  course. 
I  had  the  word  'bosh'  in  my  mind,  and  I  thought  at 
one  time  that  it  was  trying  to  spell  the  word !  But 

"How  do  you  mean  'it'?" 

She  looked  at  him  with,  mysterious  wide  eyes. 

"Ah,  that's  just  it!  Who  was  writing?  But  any- 
way, presently  we  got  the  name  Grace — Grace  was 
trying  to  be  heard!" 

"Nonsense!     Someone  wrote  it!"  said  the  invalid. 

"Why,  Allen,  you  were  defending  it  a  moment  ago!" 
His  wife  merely  thought  this.  She  had  long  ago 
learned  to  avoid  scenes  at  any  cost  to  her  sense  of 
justice  or  pride.  Aloud  she  said  good-humoredly: 
"Do  let  me  go  on!  It  wrote  Grace  several  times. 
And  casting  about  for  a  Grace — as  you  do,  you  know, 
I  remembered  that  my  grandmother  had  been  a  Grace, 
Grace  Delafield,  of  Baltimore.  So  I  took  my  hands 
off,  we  all  did,  except  little  Miss  Warren,  who  was 
desperately  in  earnest.  My  dear,  do  you  know  that 
that  thing — the  pencil,  call  it! — began  to  struggle  with 
De — and  Delia — and  Field!  I  assure  you  that  it  did, 
Allen.  I  sat  there  quite  frightened,  really,  it  did 
seem  so  uncanny." 


28  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"So  you  were  quite  the  heroine  of  the  hour!"  said 
her  husband  unpleasantly. 

"No,  I  wasn't!  I  didn't  tell  them.  They  don't 
know  me,  and  it  would  have  sounded  so  flat.  Then  it 
got  L.  Two  or  three  times.  I  did  tell  them  that  that 
was  my  letter.  And  then  rubbish — nothing  else,  and 
Fred  Winship  was  bubbling  with  nonsense,  as  usual, 
and  they  brought  in  supper — and  that  was  all!  And 
now  I'll  get  you  your  supper.  Did  the  evening  go 
comfortably  ? " 

"As  usual,"  he  answered,  opening  a  book.  "Your 
being  here  makes  little  difference,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Lombard  put  aside  her  knitting,  rose,  raked 
the  fire.  She  went  out  of  the  room,  returning  with  a 
small  iron  saucepan,  which  went,  in  British  fashion, 
upon  the  hob.  While  the  evening  gruel  heated,  she 
straightened  the  room,  handling  books  quickly,  open- 
ing the  alcove  window  an  inch  or  two  to  the  winter 
night. 

The  invalid  had  his  supper  from  a  Sheffield  tray, 
in  a  Canton  blue  bowl.  He  ate  it  noisily  and  rapidly, 
scooping  the  tipped  bowl  forty  times  with  his  spoon 
when  he  had  finished.  All  his  movements  had  a 
rheumatic  awkwardness.  He  wiped  his  moustache  with 
one  angry  dragging  motion  of  a  trembling  hand. 

Now  his  wife  came  toward  him  with  a  quarter-glass 
of  hot  milk  in  her  hand,  into  which  she  was  stirring  a 
bitter,  dissolving  powder.  He  looked  at  it  jealously; 
he  had  powerful  salicylates  every  waking  hour  of  his 
life,  but  this  precious  teaspoonful  was  an  opiate. 
He  had  been  thinking  about  it  since  four  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon. 

Sometimes  it  did  not  bring  sleep,  and  he  begged  the 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  29 

doctor — unsuccessfully,  for  a  double  dose.  But  Ged- 
ney,  like  all  his  other  physicians,  was  cautious.  He 
must  try  hot  baths,  more  gruel,  he  must  avoid  sleep 
in  the  afternoon. 

Mrs.  Lombard  kept  the  aspirin  powders  and  the 
sedative  in  an  adjoining  room.  Her  quiet  inflexibility 
in  their  administration  was  a  cause  of  incessant  re- 
sentment on  her  husband's  part.  He  hated  his  de- 
pendence upon  her,  hated  every  separate  evidence 
of  his  helplessness  day  after  day.  There  were  moods 
in  which  he  hated  her,  for  her  calm,  her  patient  ser- 
vice, her  resolute  cheerfulness,  her  mysterious  amber 
eyes. 

When  he  had  gulped  down  the  hot  milk  to-night,  she 

wheeled  him   to  his   bedside  in  the  next   room,  her 

fresh,  firm  young  hand  touching  his  papery  cold  skin 

as  she  drew  off  the  warm  stockings  and  fur-lined  slip- 

rAot-°      The  bed  was  opened,  beautifully  fresh  and  in- 

;;    she   helped   him    awkwardly   in;   his   gingerly 

ded  feet  touched  the  warmth  of  hot  water  bottles. 

rizzled  head  sank  upon  a  snowy  soft  pillow,  his 

Drought  the  covers  evenly  up  about  the  humped 

ders.     She    extinguished    the    light,    breathed    a 

night  above  his  already  drowsy  head,  and  was  gone. 

heir  program  was  always  the  same;  it  had  been  the 

for  every  one  of  the  more  than  two  hundred  nights 

s  house,  it  had  been  just  this  in  the  house  in  St. 

s  Wood,  in  the  house  in  Rosarios,  in  the  New 

apartment.     While  he  lived,  it  must  be  so,  and 

grit  live  for  thirty  years ! 

;  bedroom  had  been  intended  originally  for  the 

i    2;-room.     His  wife's  room,  and  the  two  servants' 

?,  were  on  the  top  floor,  all  small  and  box-like, 


30  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

with  the  shallow  tiny  closets  of  forty  years  ago.  Mrs. 
Lombard's  contained  only  the  simplest  furnishings: 
a  white  narrow  bed,  a  white  straight  curtain,  a  blue 
rug,  a  line  of  shabby  books  on  a  white  shelf.  The 
plaster  walls  and  smooth  old  woodwork  were  white. 

She  came  to  the  dormer  window  in  her  trailing  blue 
wrapper  to-night,  and  stood  looking  down,  as  Mimi 
had  done,  at  the  trees  in  the  little  square,  and  the 
fronts  of  the  old  brick  houses  softened  and  beautified 
now  into  romantic  loveliness.  But  she  saw  nothing. 
Her  face  was  almost  devoid  of  expression,  except  per- 
haps for  a  little  narrowing  of  the  eyes,  and  the  faintest 
compression  of  the  lips. 

After  awhile  she  sighed  sharply. 

The  room  behind  her  was  utterly  still;  candle-light 
wavered  softly  over  the  low  ceiling,  and  doubled  itself 
in  the  little  mirror.  Outside,  the  storm  had  died  away, 
in  the  west,  but  the  air  that  entered  the  open  window 
was  still  restless  and  fresh.  The  trees  moved  uneasily 
in  the  wet  wind,  and  the  moon  was  riding  among  toss- 
ing clouds.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  square,  only 
three  hundred  feet  away,  the  silent  woman  could  see 
the  light  in  the  little  second-hand  book-shop  still 
burning;  that,  they  had  said,  was  the  old  Curran  house. 
The  Judge  had  been  born  there,  and  his  sister,  F 
mother. 

Her  thoughts  went  to  Mimi — fortunate,  prote 
beloved  Mimi,  with  life  so  sweet  and  plain  before 

"She  will  marry  Fred,  perhaps,"  she  mused, 
have  a  nursery  full  of  blonde  girls  and  dark-eyed  i. 
with   plenty   of  money   for  nurses   and    schools 
country  summers!     Or  perhaps  the  husband  wi  ! 
the  older  brother — but  how  simple  it  is.     She  is 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  31 

and  clever  and  affectionate,  and  the  money  and  the 
beauty  are  thrown  in!" 

And  suddenly  she  knelt  down  at  the  old  window-sill, 
over  which  the  kind,  good  eyes  of  clergymen's  busy 
wives  had  for  a  hundred  years  looked  down  into  Kings- 
green  Square.  No  one  was  awake  there  to-night  to 
hear  her  whisper: 

"Oh,  my  God — my  God!  Isn't  there  ever  such  a 
thing  as  a  second  chance!" 

The  routine  at  the  rectory  was  extremely  simple, 
but  unchangeable,  as  the  routine  must  be  in  the  house 
of  an  invalid.  At  seven  every  morning  the  mistress 
went,  sweet  and  fresh,  into  her  husband's  bedroom, 
and  the  little  maid  busied  herself  in  his  sitting-room, 
adjoining.  At  eight  he  was  in  his  chair,  his  thin 
tangle  of  grizzled  hair  brushed,  his  wrapper  neat, 
the  difficult  business  of  shaving  and  dressing  accom- 
plished. 

Then  came  his  breakfast,  before  the  fire  in  winter, 
beside  the  narrow  eastern  window  in  summer,  his  wife 
sharing  his  tray.  After  that  came  a  comfortable  time 
of  letters,  the  morning  papers,  and  the  half-hour  di- 
version afforded  by  the  hopping  and  chirping  and 
bathing  canaries. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Lombard  talked  with  her  cook,  put 
on  her  plain  hat  and  coat,  arranged  the  ten  o'clock 
powder  and  the  glass  beside  him,  and  went  forth  to 
market,  only  a  few  squares  away.  After  the  ques- 
tion of  chops  and  asparagus  and  lettuce  had  been 
conscientiously  settled,  she  stopped  at  the  public 
library.  There  must  be  two  or  three  new  books  every 
day:  travel,  letters,  biography  had  first  choice,  exciting 
fiction  was  always  welcome,  and  sometimes  an  odd 


32  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

book  about  such  varied  topics  as  Hindoo  village  life, 
beetles  of  Brazil,  Russian  folk-lore  or  the  making  of 
furniture  might  safely  be  hazarded.  With  these 
'hugged  under  her  arm,  Mrs.  Lombard  usually  crossed 
to  the  old  second-hand  book-shop;  this  was  a  treasure 
trove,  there  was  always  something  here  that  she  could 
not  resist,  and,  far  more  generous  than  the  publishers 
of  the  world,  the  old  homes  of  the  city  were  constantly 
disgorging  fresh  plunder  for  her  eager  hands. 

This  was  the  pleasantest  time  of  her  day,  in  the 
summer  morning  freshness,  or  with  the  bracing  winter 
air  bringing  color  to  her  face,  with  the  sunshine  glint- 
ing upon  the  fruit  in  the  market;  in  the  dim  whispering 
sweetness  of  the  alcoves  of  the  old  library,  or  the 
tumbling  richness  of  the  book-shop  before  her. 

After  luncheon,  for  which  she  had  always  to  prepare 
at  least  the  salad  and  the  sweet,  the  invalid  usually 
fell  asleep,  and  his  wife  might  seize  the  precious  hour 
for  a  walk,  or  for  her  Red  Cross  work.  He  always 
resented  her  going,  but  she  knew  that  she  must  go, 
or  lose  her  reason,  and  on  this  one  point  she  braved 
his  unending  displeasure.  She  must  get  away — from 
the  fire  and  canaries  and  the  dry,  sceptical  voice — into 
the  open  air,  where  people  were  laughing  and  talking, 
going  to  theatres,  buying  shoes  for  boys  and  girls ! 

But  she  must  come  back.  She  must  always  come 
back. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  DAY  or  two  after  her  call  upon  Mrs.  Porter,  she 
escaped  from  the  house  a  little  earlier  than  usual,  and 
made  her  way  briskly,  between  coal  and  lumber  yards, 
and  across  a  bridge  powdered  with  coal-dust  and 
sawdust,  toward  the  open  spaces  where  city  houses  and 
odd  factories  thinned  into  country  fields.  A  mile 
away  were  actual  barns  and  meadows,  and  presently 
she  came  to  the  hillside  where  a  clear  little  brook  ran 
over  big  scattered  stones  and  under  frail,  wind-whipped 
willows,  carrying  the  great  fallen  leaves  of  maple  and 
sycamore  leaves  with  it  as  it  went.  Autumn  had 
paved  the  banks  with  scarlet  and  yellow,  bright,  dry, 
and  pungent  in  their  brief  hour,  but  now  the  early 
November  rains  had  soaked  them  into  sodden  masses, 
odorous  of  the  woods,  and  winter,  and  decay. 

Footing  upon  the  bank  and  upon  the  stones  and 
fallen  leaves  was  slippery  and  uncertain,  and  climbing 
up  the  course  of  the  little  creek  she  paused  often,  to 
catch  breath  and  rest  strained  muscles,  and  to  look 
downward  at  the  farm  roofs  and  the  huddled  chimney- 
pots of  the  city,  rapidly  falling  below  her. 

A  mile  up  the  slender  noisy  waterway  she  came  to 
an  immense  dry  boulder,  rising  into  the  winter  sun- 
light, and  here  she  laid  her  armful  of  clear  golden 
leaves,  and  seated  herself  to  study  with  dreamy  eyes 
the  scene  at  her  feet. 

The  softness  and  thinness  of  the  dying  year  was  still 


34  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

in  the  bright  air,  but  on  the  farms  and  the  dim  blue 
mountains  beyond  all  the  trees  were  leafless,  and  the 
silent  watcher  could  see  steam  rising  from  the  barns 
into  blue  sunshine,  and  pumpkins  piled  in  orange 
glory  upon  the  shrivelled  and  discolored  fields.  Leaf- 
fires  sent  plumes  of  lilac-gray  straight  up  toward  the 
soft,  uncertain  sky,  and  the  day  was  so  still  that  the 
regular  whistling  of  a  crane,  far  down  the  river,  came 
faintly  to  her  ears. 

Sanbridge,  prosperous,  bustling,  ugly  and  beauti- 
ful, reactionary  and  progressive,  hateful  and  lovable, 
as  are  all  American  cities,  roared  through  the  accus- 
tomed business  of  the  afternoon.  The  woman  could 
see  motor-cars  parked  in  diagonals  along  Washington 
Street,  see  other  motor-cars,  beetles  in  a  toy  city, 
scuttling  to  and  fro.  Smoke  rose  from  great  brick 
chimneys,  joined  its  shadow  to  other  shadows,  swept 
lazily  south.  The  interurban  trolleys  skimmed  out 
between  high  brick  buildings  and  the  captured  masts 
of  ships,  and  fled  through  the  city's  fringe  of  ugliness — 
factories,  sheds,  packing-houses,  railway  tracks,  hideous 
wooden  houses  and  tenements,  humming  toward 
suburban  cottages — brave  little  ventures  in  shingles 
and  art  brick,  with  clothes-lines  in  the  square  back- 
yards, and  hooded  baby-carriages  in  front. 

To  the  east  lay  the  finest  residential  section,  se- 
cluded in  splendid  trees,  intersected  with  handsome 
fences,  rich  in  fine  old  gardens,  and  with  new  garages 
risen  beside  the  old,  high-shouldered  carriage  stables. 
From  the  hill  Mrs.  Lombard  could  see  the  pasture 
of  the  Curran  house,  with  a  fawn-colored  cow  and  a 
bay  horse  respectably  grazing. 

And  to  the  west  lay  the  inevitable  slum,  with  the 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  35 

church  spires,  and  the  new  charity  hospital,  and  the 
rescue  home,  rising  like  fresh  wheat  above  its  filthy 
tares.  Between  it  and  the  business  part  of  the  city, 
on  a  little  twist  of  the  river,  was  the  old  brick  church 
in  a  feathery  oasis  of  tall  trees,  the  queer  little  crowded 
brick  rooms  of  the  rectory  wedged  in  beside  it.  Mrs. 
Lombard  spent  some  time  in  identifying  the  trees 
to  her  satisfaction;  there  was  more  than  one  group 
of  old  maples  and  elms  in  that  old-fashioned  region. 
The  windows  she  had  no  hope  of  finding,  not  even 
a  glassy  flash  in  the  rays  of  the  declining  sun.  But 
she  could  tell  Allen,  if  Allen  chanced  to  be  in  a  recep- 
tive mood,  that  one  could  see  St.  Thomas'  from  far  up 
on  the  hill. 

To-day  he  had  been  playing  cribbage  with  Doctor 
Gedney,  a  blessed  variation.  He  might  be  more 
serene  than  usual 

She  carried  home  her  yellow  leaves,  divested  herself 
of  hat  and  wrap,  and  came  into  his  room  with  the 
jar  of  autumn  beauty  held  high  and  steadily  before  her. 

"Doctor  gone?"  she  asked,  cheerfully,  wondering 
how  much  of  this  stale,  over-laden  air  she  dared  change 
before  the  young  guests  came  in  for  tea. 

There  was  no  answer.  She  set  down  her  bowl, 
carried  him  a  glass  of  water,  tilted  the  contents  of  a 
powder-paper  carefully  upon  his  extended  tongue. 

"I  didn't  hear  you!"  her  husband  said,  suddenly. 

The  superfluous  question  would  have  been  nothing 
but  idiotic  now,  she  did  not  repeat  it.  Instead  she 
spoke  of  the  walk,  and  the  clear,  nipping  early  winter 
day. 

"I  thought  this  was  the  day  your  Americans  were 
coming  in  for  tea?"  the  invalid  said,  sourly. 


36  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"We're  all  ready!"  she  answered,  cheerfully.  "Ber- 
tha has  the  tray  in  order,  and  Hannah  was  just  putting 
the  most  delicious  pan  of  graham  rolls  into  the  oven!" 

"Hannah?"  he  echoed,  scowling.  "Oh,  you  mean 
Cook?" 

"Cook,"  she  conceded,  absently. 

"So  the  latest  idea  is  that  we  are  to  be  patronized 
by  the  Sanbridge  elect,  is  it?"  he  asked,  presently. 

"Why,  no,  I  wouldn't  call  it  that,  dear.  Miss 
Warren  asked  to  call,  and  to  bring  Fred  Winship  and 
perhaps  his  brother  with  her " 

"After  seven  months,  eh?" 

"Allen,  I  can  very  simply  ask  them  to  make  it 
another  day!"  she  countered,  with  a  convincing  air 
of  eager  consideration.  "Shall  I  telephone  them  that 
you  are  having  a  bad  day " 

"No,  I  don't  seem  to  lie  as  easily  as  you  Americans 
do,"  he  drawled,  "and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  am  having 
a  particularly  good  one!" 

His  wife  was  silent;  rejoicing  in  her  secret  heart 
that  he  did  not  seem  to  know  that  the  alcove  window 
was  open,  and  the  clean  sweet  air  carrying  away  the 
odors  of  luncheon,  and  canaries,  -  and  of  carpets,  and 
of  his  and  the  doctor's  pipes.  She  knew  he  was  really 
interested  in  the  little  approaching  break  in  the  day's 
dullness,  and  that  even  the  prospect  of  engaging 
young  Fred  Winship  for  cribbage  was  enough — 
poor  Allen ! — to  brighten  his  whole  day. 

He  reached  for  a  fat,  shabby  public  library  vol- 
ume, opened  it  with  a  shrug  of  his  thin  high  shoulders 
and  a  nervous  settling  of  his  eyeglasses,  and  composed 
himself  to  read. 

Mrs.   Lombard   presently  went   out   of  the   room, 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  37 

came  back  with  a  small  folding  table,  spread  it  with 
a  fine  white  cloth,  moved  china,  clinked  silver  tea- 
spoons, set  a  brass  kettle  upon  the  hob. 

"I  propose  to  have  my  tea  at  five  o'clock  whether 
your  friends  choose  to  be  prompt  or  not,"  said  her 
husband,  looking  up. 

"You  shall,  my  dear,"  his  wife  assured  him,  amiably, 
continuing  her  simple  preparations.  But  she  felt  a 
secret  relief  when,  ten  minutes  before  the  hour,  the 
bell  sounded,  and  there  were  voices  and  footsteps 
audible  on  the  stairs. 

Just  two  callers;  for  a  special,  last-minute  emer- 
gency had  kept  the  district  attorney  in  his  office, 
and  it  was  only  Fred  and  Mimi  who  came  into  the 
long,  dim  room.  Mrs.  Lombard  introduced  her. 

"Miss  Warren,  my  husband,  Mr.  Lombard — Mr. 
Winship  you  know,  Allen.  Take  that  chair — Miss 
Warren " 

"I'm  sorry  I  can't  say  'Pleased  to  meetchoo,5"  said 
Allen,  bent  only  upon  being  disagreeable.  "But  to 
tell  you  the  truth  I  am  not  Americanized  yet!  Of 
course  I  recognize  the  immense  superiority  of  every- 
thing American,  including  your  speech— 

"Oh,  you're  being  horribly  sarcastic!"  said  Mimi, 
with  a  delightful  laugh,  looking  straight  into  his 
eyes  with  a  simplicity  instantly  disarming,  and  hold- 
ing his  hand.  "Aren't  you  bad!" 

"Mimi'll  Americanize  you!"  Fred  Winship  an- 
nounced. "She's  the  demon  limit  on  patriotism — 
a  Continental  Damn,  and  all  that.  It  was  her  uncle, 
you  know,  who  marked  the  spot  where  freedom  fell— 
or  no,  there's  a  statue  where  he  fell,  that  was  it." 

"Idiot,"    Miss    Warren    commented,    sinking    into 


38  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

a  chair,  and  looking  about  her  with  pleasure.  "He'll 
gabble  that  way  indefinitely,"  she  explained  to  her 
host.  "Do  keep  quiet,  Fred,"  she  added,  plaintively, 
"I  never  talked  to  a  Lord  before!" 

"Nor  I  either,"  Mr.  Winship  said,  vivaciously. 
"I've  come  up  to  Armageddon,  to  do  battle  with 
the  Lord " 

Allen's  sudden,  reluctant  laugh  rang  out,  and  his 
wife's  face  brightened  at  the  unfamiliar  sound.  Ber- 
tha came  in  with  the  tray,  the  delicate  odor  of  fine 
tea  drifted  through  the  air.  Fred,  leaning  forward 
in  the  most  comfortable,  easy  manner  imaginable, 
broke  the  heavy  lumps  of  coal  with  a  brass  poker, 
Miss  Warren  tossed  aside  her  gloves  and  her  long, 
loose  coat. 

A  big-tipped  hat  shaded  the  animated  face,  and 
if  Mimi's  chief  beauty  was  usually  in  her  clear  rosy 
skin,  her  wide-open  dark  eyes  and  her  expression  of 
sweetness  and  intelligence,  there  were  moments  when 
she  was  actually  pretty,  too,  and  this  was  one  of  them. 
The  novelty  of  this  little  tea-party,  with  its  silent, 
mysterious-eyed  hostess,  its  invalided,  lowering  host, 
and  its  flavor  of  something  entirely  un-American, 
was  enough  to  send  spirits  as  blithe  as  Mimi's  soaring 
at  once.  All  life  was  joy  to  her,  and  the  least  variation 
might  spell  romance. 

"But  how  did  you  ever  happen  to  find  a  house  in 
Kingsgreen  Square?"  she  asked,  vivaciously. 

"How  do  people  usually  find  houses?"  drawled 
the  invalid,  unencouragingly.  Mimi's  bright  color 
came  up,  but  she  was  unabashed. 

"Now  you're  snubbing  me  again!"  she  accused 
him. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  39 

"Oh,  on  the  contrary/'  he  said,  won  by  her  sim- 
plicity and  with  his  pleasantest  manner,  "I  am  quite 
wondering  why  Fred  hasn't  given  me  this  pleasure 
before!" 

"Fred,"  said  Mimi,  solemnly,  "does  not  control 
my  movements!" 

"I  thought  he  was — I  beg  your  pardon,  Allen!" 
said  Mrs.  Lombard.  He  had  interrupted  her* 

"No,  go  ahead!"  he  said,  ungraciously,  glowering 
at  the  fire. 

"I  was  going  to  say  that  I  thought  he  was  your 
guardian,"  said  Mrs.  Lombard,  after  a  second  of  dis- 
tressed silence. 

"Fred's  father,  until  he  died  twelve  years  ago,  was 
my  guardian,"  Mimi  elucidated,  "after  that,  Stephen 
shared  it  with  Uncle  Sam." 

"Not  the  gentleman  in  the  striped  pants  and  beaver 
top  hat,"  Fred  explained,  with  an  elegant  air,  "but 
Judge  Curran — that's  who  she  means  by  Uncle  Sam. 
No,  I'm  not  her  guardian.  I  don't  seem  to  impress 
mothers  with  the  desirability  of  handing  me  over 
their  fair  young  daughters.  Would — would  that  I 
did!  I " 

"You  could  embezzle  their  trust  funds,  like  the 
guardians  in  the  movies,  Fred,"  Mimi  suggested, 
pleasantly. 

His  face  grew  violently  red,  and  she  could  see,  to 
her  amazement,  that  she  had  hurt  his  feelings,  al- 
though he  laughed. 

"Mrs.  Lombard "  she  began,  with  a  brisk  change 

of  subject,  and  stopped.  "Do  I  call  you  Lady  Lom- 
bard?" she  asked,  looking  from  husband  to  wife. 

"We  don't  use  it  here,  under  the  ideal  conditions 


40  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

of  a  democracy,  where  there  is  no  class  distinction," 
Allen  Lombard  said,  harshly.  "It  seems  to  be  out 
of  place,  where  there  is  no  poverty  and  no  suffering, 
no  labor  trouble,  where  everything  is  quite  ideal " 

"Sir  Allen  belongs  to  an  old  Scotch  clan,"  explained 
Mrs.  Lombard,  simply,  "and  if  we  could  live  in  the 
Highlands — which  unfortunately  he  cannot,  he  would 
be  the  Laird,  of  course!  But  the  dampness  and  cold 
there  is  very  bad  for  him,  and  when  we  travel,  and 
especially  in  America,  it  seems  more  natural  to  be 
just  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lombard." 

"You  know  they  tell  us  that  American  girls  are 
always  ready  to  jump  at  titles,"  the  invalid  said  to 
Mimi,  "but,  being  happily  married,  I  no  longer  have 
that  excuse  for  being  here!" 

The  insult  was  unmistakable,  his  ugly  look  went  to 
his  wife,  and  Mimi  saw  her  pale  under  the  warm  creamy 
tan  of  her  skin.  Mimi  had  been  rather  won,  girl-fashion, 
to  the  stern,  irritable,  nervous  man,  who  was  yet 
obviously  so  travelled,  so  cultured,  and  so  experienced. 
But  now  she  felt  the  indignant  blood  hot  in  her  face. 
She  marvelled  at  the  composure  with  which  Mrs. 
Lombard  could  say: 

"Break  that  coal,  will  you,  Fred?  Are  you  going 
to  let  me  give  you  a  fresh  cup,  Miss  Warren ?" 

"What  I  was  going  to  say  was  that  we  know  this 
part  of  town  very  well,  Fred  and  I,"  Mimi  said,  a 
trifle  hastily,  turning  a  shoulder  slightly  toward  her 
host.  "That  old  house  opposite,  where  the  book- 
store is,  still  belongs  to  the  family.  That  was  built  by 
Fred's  great-grandfather,  old  Captain  Tom  Curran; — 
that  was  the  Judge's  grandfather.  His  son  George 
was  the  Judge's  father  and  Fred's  grandfather.  Who 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  41 

did  your  grandfather  Curran  marry,  Fred?  How  does 
that  come  in?" 

"He  married  someone,  I  am  sure,"  Fred  said,  vir- 
tuously, "because  he  had  sons  and  daughters.  And 
one  of  the  daughters  married  my  father,  John  Win- 
ship,  who — lacking  heirs  male 

"Oh,  shut  up!"  Mimi  laughed.  "Anyway,  this  is 
the  cradle  of  the  race!"  she  added,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Lombard.  "The  Currans  bought  their  new  house — 
it  was  almost  in  the  country,  then! — thirty  years  ago, 
but  Uncle  Sam's  mother,  old  Aunt  Fanny,  as  we  used 
to  call  her,  and  her  sister,  Cousin  Mary  Dolliver,  used 
to  live  down  here  until  Aunt  Fanny  died,  about  six 
years  ago.  I  used  to  come  visit  them,  when  I  was  a 
little  girl.  And  Cousin  Mary's  still  living — though  she 
is  eighty  or  more,  and  very  indignant  because  the  place 
is  used  for  lodgers  and  tailors  and  a  book-store,  and  all 
that !  Fred,  how  old  is  Cousin  Mary  ? "  she  broke  off. 

But  Fred  had  turned  to  his  host. 

"  If  you'll  give  me  the  Queen,  and  a  couple  of  rocks, 
I'll  take  you  on  at  chess  some  day!"  he  offered  valiantly. 
Allen  Lombard's  eagle  eye  lighted  with  pleasure. 

"I  didn't  know  that  you  played,  my  dear  boy! 
I  play  very  badly,  I  assure  you!"  he  answered,  eagerly, 
with  a  gesture  toward  the  board.  "My  usual  game  is 
cribbage,  but  my  wife  seems  to  have  an  unconquerable 
aversion  to  games  of  any  sort!" 

''I'm  wretched  at  them!"  Mrs.  Lombard's  extraor- 
dinarily sweet  voice  conceded  amusedly.  She  had 
risen,  to  stand  beside  the  low  mantel,  with  one  long, 
velvet-sleeved  arm  resting  upon  it.  From  the  sheer 
linen  cuff  came  the  beautifully  formed  hand,  bare  and 
flawless.  Mimi,  looking  at  her,  noted  for  the  first 


42  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

time  that  she  was  tall,  splendidly  formed;  the  simple, 
worn  black  gown  was  open  at  the  throat,  and  as  she 
leaned  forward,  her  eyes  on  the  fire,  there  was  visible 
a  hint  of  the  curve  of  smooth  young  breast. 

To  Fred  and  Mimi,  even  in  this  sober  gown,  she 
seemed  suddenly  different  from  the  shabbily  dressed 
Mrs.  Lombard  of  the  Red  Cross  work-room  and  the 
evening  meeting.  She  had  covered  her  thick  hair 
with  a  small  hat  then,  she  had  worn  enveloping  cloaks 
and  furs.  There  had  been  something  staid,  something 
unfashionable,  in  her  appearance.  It  occurred  to 
both,  now,  for  the  first  time,  that  she  was  in  reality 
young,  and  that  she  was  extraordinarily  lovely. 

She  had  a  wide,  low  forehead,  under  banded  masses 
of  soft  thick  hair  of  so  light  a  brown  that  it  was  al- 
most tawny.  Her  eyes,  her  smooth  skin,  and  this 
rich  crown  of  braids  were  all  of  a  golden  brownness, 
with  an  even  absence  of  color,  yet  shiningly,  even 
brilliantly,  alive.  The  mouth,  a  warm  scarlet,  was  the 
only  vivid  spot  in  the  face;  it  was  a  wise  mouth,  thin- 
lipped,  slow  to  smile,  and  showing,  when  she  did  smile, 
her  large  and  splendid  white  teeth.  In  her  close-set 
small  ears,  this  afternoon,  were  quaint  round  earrings 
of  old  filigree  and  pearl. 

"If  you  will  come  and  play  chess  now  and  then," 
she  said,  conscious  of  something  a  little  marked  in 
their  regard,  and  smiling  over  the  trifling  awkward- 
ness, "you  will  be  a  good  Samaritan!" 

"Say,  I'll  do  that  very  thing!"  Fred  said,  eagerly. 
"And  I'll  do  it  to-morrow  night,  if  I  may?" 

"Dine  here,"  said  his  lordship,  crustily,  from  his 
scrutiny  of  the  fire.  So  it  was  arranged,  and  Fred 
and  Mimi  began  to  make  a  little  stir  of  departure. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  43 

"Perhaps  you  would  dine  with  us,  too,  Miss  Warren?" 
Mrs.  Lombard  said,  going  with  her  to  the  stairs  in  the 
hallway.  Mimi  pleaded  an  engagement;  the  matter 
was  not  pressed.  "I  like  your — squire  very  much/' 
the  older  woman  added,  smilingly,  as  she  fingered,  in 
an  affectionate  big-sisterly  fashion,  the  girl's  collar 
and  fur. 

Mimi  glanced  back  toward  the  sitting-room,  where 
Fred  was  momentarily  delayed  over  the  chess  board. 

"I  wish  his  brother,  Steve,  had  been  able  to  come!" 
she  said  eagerly.  "He  was  so  sorry — but  you'll  meet 
him  soon!  He's — wonderful!" 

"What — more  so  than  this  Adonis?"  asked  Mrs. 
Lombard,  amused. 

"Oh,  well "  April  color  was  in  the  girl's  face,  as 

she  looked  up,  laughing,  at  her  taller  companion.  "Ste- 
phen's thirty,"  she  confessed,  round-eyed,  "and  he's 
—he's  been  a  regular  father  to  Fred.  Fred  is — has 
been — a  responsibility,  you  know!  And  Stephen  man- 
ages us  all,  my  aunt,  and  my  uncle,  and  Fred,  and 
me — he  was  joint  guardian  with  Judge  Curran  until 
I  was  twenty-one." 

"And  have  you  been  twenty-one  very  long?"  Mrs. 
Lombard's  deep  and  thrilling  voice  asked,  musingly, 
as  with  one  hand  still  lingering  on  her  shoulder,  she 
watched  the  girl's  radiant  face. 

"Oh,  I  was  twenty-two  last  week!" 

"And  I  was  twenty-eight  last  week,"  the  woman 
said. 

Twenty-eight!  Mimi's  face  showed  her  astonish- 
ment, her  glance  went  in  quick,  troubled  fashion  toward 
the  oppressive,  lifeless  backwater  of  the  drawing-room, 
toward  the  middle-aged  man  who  was  chained  there, 


44  LUCRETIA  LOMBAED 

the  quiet,  forgotten  street,  the  old  piano  and  the 
old  photographs,  the  coal  fire  sucking  and  sputtering, 
the  cuckoo  clock  hiccoughing  half-past  five.  And  this 
woman  only  six  years  older  than  herself,  beautiful, 
and  titled,  slipping  quietly  in  to  the  Red  Cross 
rooms 

"I  wish  you  would  come  and  have  luncheon  with  me 
some  day,"  the  girl  said,  impulsively.  "We  could 
have  it  at  the  Country  Club,  if  you  like.  Have  you 
been  there?"  And  as  the  other  indicated  a  negative 
with  a  faint  shake  of  her  head,  she  went  on,  "I  would 
love  to  drive  you  out  there ! " 

"You  drive  your  own  car?" 

"Oh,  I  have  since  I  was  sixteen.  You — you  don't 
play  golf?"  said  Mimi. 

"No."  Again  the  little  negative  motion,  and  this 
time  a  glance  toward  the  sitting-room.  "I  take  a 
long  walk  every  day,"  said  Mrs.  Lombard.  "But  I 
am  not  free  for  anything  like  tennis  or  golf." 

Mimi  felt  the  spell  of  the  poignant  voice,  and  cast 
about  for  something  consolatory  to  say. 

"Will  Sir— will  Mr.  Lombard  always  be  so  ill?" 

"We  hope  not.     But  it  is  arthritis." 

"And  has  he  been  ill  long?" 

"Not  helpless,  as  he  is  now.  But  this  is  the  fifth 
year." 

"Since — not  since  before  you  were  married?" 

"Oh,  no.  We  have  been  married  more  than  eight 
years." 

It  was  simply,  wearily,  almost  indifferently  said,  but 
the  tragedy  of  it  made  Mimi's  heart  close  in  a  sort 
of  spasm. 

"All  the  nicest  years!"  she  said,  with  shy  daring. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  45 

Mrs.  Lombard  did  not  answer.  She  had  laid  one 
hand  upon  the  yellow-brown  fox-skin  that  was  loosely 
linked  about  Mimi's  shoulder,  and  she  moved  this 
graceful,  warmly  brown  hand  idly  in  the  rich  fur. 
Her  tawny  eyelashes  hid  her  eyes,  but  Mimi  saw  her 
breast  rise  in  a  great  sigh. 

A  moment  later  Fred  Winship  came  out,  and  carried 
Mimi  away.  Mrs.  Lombard  smiled  down  at  them 
until  they  had  descended  the  short  flight,  and  shut 
the  street  door.  And  even  when  they  were  gone,  she 
still  stood  staring  absently  down  into  the  twilight 
of  the  hallway. 

Allen  liked  to  brush  his  hair,  and  his  teeth,  and  per- 
haps change  to  a  fresh  gown,  for  dinner.  She  went 
up  to  the  sitting-room,  where  Bertha  was  clearing  the 
tea-table,  and  wheeled  the  big,  lightly  balanced  chair 
into  his  room. 

It  had  been  a  little  break,  this  meeting  with  these 
cheerful  and  normal  young  people,  the  evening  at  their 
house,  the  afternoon  at  her  own.  But  after  it  the  lonely 
waters  of  her  life  closed  over  her  head  again.  She  had 
been  young  enough  to  hope  that  something  might  come 
of  it,  companionship,  an  opening  in  the  wide  solitude 
of  the  seas. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BUT  the  days  went  on,  and  on,  and  on.  December 
began  to  shine,  even  among  the  poor  little  shops  near 
Kingsgreen  Square,  with  red  berries  and  green  leaves. 
Allen  Lombard  requested  that  a  wreath  be  hung  in 
every  window,  and  the  girlish,  obedient  hands  tied 
them  there. 

Winter  mornings,  frost-bitten  windows,  and  the  rich 
circle  of  leaves  and  berries — what  pictures  of  joyous 
childhood,  proud  parenthood,  and  serene  old  age  they 
conjured  up  before  the  eyes  of  the  lonely  woman  in 
St.  Thomas'  rectory!  Big  tables  surrounded  with 
happy  faces,  fire-shine  on  the  gifts  of  silver  and  glass, 
the  backs  of  books 

Ah,  and  best  of  all  the  hands  and  voices — the  dear 
loving  voices  of  Christmas-time !  Here  it  was  so  stilL 

Bertha  was  one  of  seven  devoted  boys  and  girls- 
Bertha  had  a  mother.  And  Hannah  was  going  to  have 
her  little  girl  out  of  the  Home  for  ten  days,  and  go 
to  her  sister's  house  for  her  Christmas  dinner.  Lord 
and  Lady  Lombard — she  had  liked  to  hear  herself 
called  that,  once! — would  dine  alone. 

And  she  had  done  it  herself — she  had  done  it  her- 
self! 

Sometimes,  on  her  solitary  walks,  her  thoughts  went 
back  across  the  nine  years.  She  and  her  mother  were 
in  southern  France;  the  girl  happy  in  the  motionless 
village  life,  the  woman  restless,  ambitious,  fretful. 

46 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  4? 

Their  income  had  been  microscopic,  the  mother's 
nature  had  long  ago  made  life  in  the  old  Baltimore 
home  impossible  to  them;  they  had  been  wandering. 

And  the  girl  had  been  pretty 

Pretty  enough  to  hold  a  visiting  Scotch  nobleman 
day  after  day,  and  week  after  week,  ajt  the  little  inn, 
walking  with  her,  laughing  with  her,  hanging  over  her 
little  daisied  hat  and  muslin  gown  as  if  there  was  an 
enchantment  about  her. 

There  had  not  been  any  enchantment  about  him— 
ever.  He  had  been  forty-four,  as  lean  and  dry  as  he 
was  now,  as  dull  and  as  dictatorial.  But  the  girl's 
eyes  had  not  seen  that,  and  the  mother's  eyes  had  seen 
her  daughter's  name  with  a  title,  printed  in  a  Baltimore 
paper!  And  he  had  not  been  bad,  as  men  count  bad- 
ness. He  was  a  widower,  he  had  some  money,  even 
though  he  had  wasted  more,  his  was  an  old  and  honor- 
able line.  He  had  said  that  he  loved  her. 

But  she  had  known,  on  the  dull  day  of  their  wedding 
in  a  London  chapel,  with  his  hawk-nosed  mother  and 
his  pretty  daughter  behind  her,  that  she  did  not  love 
him.  And  almost  immediately  he  had  come  to  hate 
her  mother, — poor,  pretty,  ambitious  Mama,  who  had 
always  loved  her,  whatever  her  faults!  And  Mama 
had  gone  quite  triumphantly  back  to  Baltimore,  to 
the  companionship  of  interested  aunts  and  cousins. 
But  Lord  and  Lady  Lombard  had  gone  up  to  the  old 
place,  in  Kilmarnock,  and  had  lived  with  Sir  Allen's 
mother,  and  his  two  sisters,  and  his  daughter  and  her 
husband,  Geoff,  a  clergyman. 

It  had  been  cold,  and  they  had  not  been  tolerant  of 
her  Americanisms;  it  had  seemed  fair  sport  to  laugh 
at  her,  and  ask  her  what  she  meant.  But  they  had 


48  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

i 

liked  her,  and  she  them.  Moira  and  Daphne,  the  sis- 
ters, had  gone  to  London  in  the  season,  and  duly  be- 
came engaged  and  married.  But  she  and  Allen  and  the 
Geoffs  had  stayed  at  home. 

And  then  had  come  Allen's  illness,  and  the  long, 
enchanting  sea-trip  to  South  America,  and  the  con- 
tinued losing  fight  there  for  his  health.  Mama  had 
died  in  a  Baltimore  hospital  during  this  time. 

"Very  sorry,  I'm  sure,"  he  had  said,  as  she  read  the 
cable  dazedly,  in  the  streaming  hot  December  sunshine 
of  Rosarios.  "I've  no  particular  objection  to  America, 
now,  by  the  way.  We  might  try  it!" 

Nearly  nine  years  of  it.  The  best  years  of  her  life, 
little  Mimi  Warren  had  said. 


CHAPTER  V 

FRED  came  twice  to  dine  and  play  chess  and  cribbage. 
She  did  not  talk  to  him  much,  because  he  was  absorbed 
by  Allen.  One  afternoon  she  came  in  from  a  snowy 
walk  to  learn  that  he  and  Stephen  Winship  and  Mrs. 
Curran  had  called.  It  was  too  bad  to  miss  them! 
She  had  so  little ! 

Then  a  few  days  before  Christmas  Eve  came  an 
adventure. 

She  was  downtown,  in  a  big  department  store,  trying 
to  find  a  new  type  of  drop-light  in  which  Allen  had 
expressed  an  interest,  hurrying  through  the  morning 
quietness  of  the  shops,  which  would  begin  to  boil  and 
seethe  in  a  few  hours.  Now  there  was  a  pleasant 
silence  and  space  in  the  wide  aisles,  and  at  the  counters 
freshly  dressed  girls  were  quietly  dusting  and  arranging 
stock.  Mrs.  Lombard  was  hesitating,  in  the  oriental 
department,  over  a  cheerful  work-basket  that  might 
presumably  be  suitable  for  Bertha,  when  she  was 
surprised  by  a  touch  on  her  arm.  She  turned  to  smile 
at  Mrs.  Curran. 

The  smile  she  had  in  return  was  so  exceptionally 
bright  and  eager,  and  the  older  woman's  round,  soft, 
faded  face  was  so  full  of  joy,  that  it  could  not  be  un- 
noticed. 

"You  look  as  if  you  were  going  to  have  a  merry 
Christmas!"  said  Mrs.  Lombard. 

"My  dear,"  the  other  said,  with  a  caressing  touch, 

49 


50  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"I  do  believe  I  am!"  And  in  an  irresistible  little 
rush  of  confidence  she  added,  "I  must  tell  you.  Mimi 
—Miss  Warren,  you  know,  and  my  nephew,  are  engaged 
to  be  married!  They  told  us  only  a  few  days  ago. 
We  are  all  so  happy  about  it!  I  don't  believe  anything 
in  his  life  ever  made  the  Judge  so  happy!  We  loved 
Mimi's  mother,  you  know — she  was  a  wonderful 
woman.  And  since  she  was  eighteen  months  old 
she  has  been  just  like  our  own  child!" 

"Fred  Winship?"  asked  Mrs.  Lombard. 

"Oh,  no,  Stephen.  Fred  is — well,  he's  a  dear," 
said  Fred's  aunt,  with  a  little  deprecatory  drop  of 
her  head  as  she  mentioned  him,  "but  Stephen — 
you've  not  met  him  ?  He  is  really  a  brilliant  fellow — not 
so  handsome  as  Fred,  no.  But — well,  there's  nobody 
like  him!  And  they  are  so  happy — Mimi  has  loved 
him  all  her  life!" 

"I  must  certainly  send  her  a  line  of  good  wishes," 
said  Mrs.  Lombard,  sympathetically  interested.  "Any 
plans  as  yet?" 

"Oh,  nothing  yet.  We're  only  telling  a  few  people. 
We  don't  want  to  hurry — she's  only  twenty-two— 
but,  Mrs.  Lombard,"  said  Mimi's  aunt,  suddenly,  un- 
willing to  be  interrupted  in  the  new  and  fascinating 
subject,  "why  can't  you  come  home  and  have  luncheon 
with  me  ?  We  keep  open  house  all  through  the  holidays 
for  Mimi's  friends — and  now  I  suppose  it  will  be 
worse  than  ever!  Would — would  your  husband  ex- 
pect you?" 

"I  told  him  I  might  have  a  cup  of  tea  downtown 
to-day,  and  finish  all  my  shopping  at  once.  .  .  ." 
Mrs.  Lombard  began,  hesitatingly.  But  she  was  not 
difficult  to  persuade;  ten  minutes  later  she  climbed 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  51 

into  the  Curran  limousine,  and  was  carried  along 
on  the  kindly  current  of  the  first  real  family  life  she 
had  known  for  years. 

The  big  house  was  filled  with  warmth  and  flowers 
and  winter  sunshine;  the  very  maids  were  radiant; 
the  telephone  tingled  and  tingled. 

The  Judge  gallantly  welcomed  his  wife's  guest; 
two  pretty  girls  came  in,  furred  and  rosy  and  laughing, 
and  the  old  people  had  to  tell  them  what  they  could 
of  the  details  of  Mimi's  great  news.  Fred  joined  the 
group  by  the  fire  at  one  o'clock;  immediately  after- 
ward it  was  decided  that  there  should  be  no  more 
waiting  for  Mimi — she  wasn't  responsible  for  what 
she  did  nowadays,  anyway — and  everyone  went  out 
to  the  big,  bright  dining-room,  where  a  quiet,  middle- 
aged  maid  was  serving  bouillon. 

Five  minutes  later  laughter  was  heard  in  the  hall, 
and  shedding  bundles  and  furs  and  gloves,  and  as 
radiant  as  the  day  itself,  in  she  came,  to  a  chorus  of 
welcome  and  congratulation. 

Stephen  had  just  the  instant  dropped  her  at  the 
door,  she  told  them,  slipping  into  her  place  at  last, 
and  hungrily  beginning  her  meal.  Oh,  they  had 
ha,d  such  fun!  Meeting  people  in  the  shops,  and 
pretending  that  nothing  had  happened!  And  what 
weather — wasn't  it  exhilarating?  Wasn't  the  air  just 
like  wine  ? 

"Mimi,  you  wicked  thing,  you  never  gave  us  a 
hint!"  said  Marjorie  Rutger. 

"Oh,  Marge — truly!"  Mimi  answered,  eagerly.  "I 
hadn't  the  faintest — but  I  give  you  my  word  I  hadn't! 
Day  before  yesterday  was  the  big  Christmas  lunch 
at  the  club,  you  know,  and  Steve  was  at  our  table, 


52  LUCKETIA  LOMBARD 

and  then  Sue  Jenkins  and  Tom  and  he  and  I  played 
nine  holes,  and  then  we  drove  home 

"And  he  asked  you  then!"  said  Marjorie. 

"He  did  not!  We  went  to  the  Penrhyns'  din- 
ner  " 

"Ah,  go  on— tell  us,  Mimi!" 

"Aunt  Bessy,  isn't  she  terrible?  .  .  .  I'll  tell 
you  nothing!" 

But  Mimi,  despite  her  protest  and  her  crimson  cheeks, 
liked  it  enormously,  and  she  shone  in  this  great  hour 
like  a  star.  Her  bright  flush,  her  glowing  eyes,  her 
laughter  for  her  friends,  her  quick  daughterly  deference 
to  the  Judge,  were  all  charming. 

With  the  dessert,  she  came  over  to  sit  beside  Mrs. 
Lombard,  and  paid  the  older  woman  the  tribute  of 
open  admiration  and  confidence. 

"Will  you  let  me  bring  him  to  see  you  some  day? 
He's  awfully — isn't  he,  Marge? — he's  just  awfully 
nice.  I  told  him  this  morning  that  if  he  hadn't  asked 
me  by  twelve  o'clock  on  New  Year's  day,  I  was  going' 
to  ask  him!"  Mimi  said,  joyously.  "No,  thank  you, 
Aunt  Bessy,  no  more!" 

"She's  too  excited  to  eat,"  said  her  aunt,  fondly. 

"Well,"  she  laid  a  satin-smooth  little  hand  upon  Mrs. 
Lombard's,  and  asked  for  indulgence  with  her  flashing 
gipsy  smile,  "Well,  it's  the  first  time  I've  ever  been 
married!" 

"You  don't  say  engaged,  Mimi,"  suggested  Grace 
Leonard,  the  other  girl. 

"Or  engaged,  or  interested,  or  having  an  under- 
standing," Mimi  instantly  amended  with  a  little 
touch  of  dignity. 

"Bridesmaid!"    said    Marjorie.     "You    promised!" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  53 

"You  and  Grace,  of  course,"  Mimi  agreed,  her  eyes 
shining.  "And  St.  Gregory's,  Aunt  Bessy?" 

"Your  mother  and  your  grandmother  were  both 
married  at  St.  Thomas'  old  church,"  said  Mrs.  Curran. 

"Oh,  but  Aunt  Bessy — way  down  there!"  Mimi 
was  protesting,  when  Mrs.  Lombard  said  quietly: 

"The  church  is  closed." 

Something  in  her  calm  and  final  phrase,  or  in  the 
tones  of  her  unusual  voice,  made  them  all  laugh  sud- 
denly. It  was  as  if  in  the  midst  of  a  babble  of  eager 
children  some  adult  had  spoken  kindly  and  finally. 
The  strange  fascination  of  this  poised  and  charming 
woman  seized  Mimi  afresh,  and  after  luncheon,  when 
the  other  girls  had  fluttered  away  to  a  bridge  tea,  she 
drove  Mrs.  Lombard  home  herself,  through  the  sun- 
shiny winter  streets.  And  at  the  door  of  the  rectory 
they  did  not  immediately  part,  but  sat  on,  in  the  car; 
Mimi  squared  about  sideways  in  the  front  seat,  facing 
her  companion,  Mrs.  Lombard  reading  the  girl's  eager 
face  with  searching  eyes. 

"It — it  almost  seems  too  much!"  Mimi  confessed, 
with  a  look  half-ashamed,  half-proud,  in  her  eyes. 

"You — you  really  like  him  so  much?" 

"He's  wonderful,"  Mimi  said,  slowly.  "Steve  has 
always  seemed  so  much  older,  to  me.  Always  so  busy, 
and  so  grave.  His  father  left  debts,  you  know.  And 
for  years  he  was  paying  them  off — he  still  is,  for  that 
matter.  And  then  he  and  Fred  started  the  firm — 
and  Fred's  never  been  any  real  help  to  him!" 

"What  is  it,  with  Fred?"  the  older  woman  asked, 
thoughtfully. 

"Oh,  it's  the  people  he  goes  with!"  Mimi  said, 
impatiently  and  unguardedly.  "He  is  always  meeting 


54  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

the  strangest  people !"  A  sudden  sick  realization  that 
this  was  not  the  wisest  remark  in  the  world  to  make 
to  this  particular  woman,  smote  her,  and  she  added, 
uncomfortably,  "I  don't  mean  that  Fred  hasn't  charm- 
ing friends,  too — everybody  likes  him.  But  gambling, 
you  know,  and  drinking — young  Harry  Harvey  has  a 
regular  cellar  full  of  wine — and  wasting  time." 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  Mrs.  Lombard  said, 
nodding.  "And  he  and  his  brother  are  business 
partners?"  she  asked. 

"Winship  and  Winship.  Of  course  Fred  keeps  it 
going  while  Stephen  is  in  office.  I  bore  you  with  our 
affairs!"  Mimi  broke  off,  apologetically,  "but  it's 
because  I'm  so  happy!" 

The  other  woman  blinked  shining  lashes  suddenly 
wet. 

"Always  be  happy,  Mimi!"  she  said,  musingly. 

"I  always  have  been."  Mimi,  thrilled  by  the  little 
sign  of  deepening  friendship,  answered  seriously.  "I've 
been — do  you  know  that  I've  never  known  what  sor- 
row or  sickness  are?" 

Mrs.  Lombard  looked  at  her  gravely,  in  silence. 
Her  wonderful  clear  brown  eyes  were  luminous  with 
a  sort  of  awe. 

"Don't  say  it!"  she  whispered,  half-whimsical, 
half-smiling.  And  with  an  immediate  return  to  her 
usual  sensible  manner,  as  she  got  out  of  the  car,  she 
added,  "You  have  done  me  good!" 

Mimi,  thrilled,  happy,  and  vaguely  excited,  waved 
a  gloved  hand;  the  car  wheeled  about  and  was  gone. 

But  Mrs.  Lombard  did  not  immediately  go  up- 
stairs. She  walked  instead  across  Kingsgreen  Square, 
under  the  bare  motionless  branches  of  the  winter- 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  55 

blackened  trees,  toward  the  smoky,  grirrw  factories 
near  the  river,  down  Oldchurch  Street,  and  into  River 
Street.  Sunshine  lay  bright  and  cold  upon  stone 
steps,  and  glinted  upon  frost-traced  Christmas  windows. 
And  with  her  went  a  restless  agony  of  young  jealousy 
and  longing.  The  sight  of  this  younger  girl's  happi- 
ness, the  thought  of  all  that  her  life  held  of  love, 
beauty,  friendship,  travel,  wealth,  burned  in  her  heart 
like  acid. 

"And  she  is  lovely  and  friendly,  Mimi,"  thought 
Mrs.  Lombard.  "  But— but  wasn't  /  ?  " 

She  remembered  her  own  engagement;  her  mother 
warning  her  that  she  must  keep  Sir  Allen  good-na- 
tured, the  strange  trip  to  England  from  France  with 
these  two  older  persons,  a  London  boarding-house, 
and  Mrs.  Delafield  asking  the  girl  to  borrow  a  hundred 
pounds  from  his  lordship  for  wedding-day  expenses. 
How  she  had  hated  to  do  it!  How  shameful  it  had 
seemed  to  kiss  him,  and  smile  up  at  him,  in  the  dingy 
parlor,  and  explain  Mama's  difficulties.  "A  check 
she  expected  from  home  has  not  come.  .  .  ." 

He  had  brought  the  blood  to  her  face  with  a  shrewd, 
"Yes,  I  expected  to  hear  of  that  check!"  eve. .-while  he 
counted  out  the  notes  into  her  hand. 

The  church  had  been  freezing  cold;  the  strange 
clergyman  had  smoked  at  the  mouth  in  the  gray  dim- 
ness. And  afterward  there  had  been  a  few  moments 
of  confusion  and  laughter  when  they  called  her  "My 
Lady".  And  then  she  and  Allen  had  gone  away 
to  Brighton 

Mrs.  Lombard  stopped  short  in  the  street,  her  eyes 
dilated.  She  saw  a  long,  dingy  room  in  a  family 
hotel  again;  herself  taking  off  the  one  new  hat,  trying 


56  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

to  be  interested  in  the  old  mirror  and  the  vases,  the 
coke  fire,  the  curtained  windows  giving  on  the  sea — 
trying  to  keep  down  the  rising  horror  of  realization 
that  this  lean,  silent  man  was  her  husband — she  was 
his  wife,  now — she  was  his  wife- 
She  walked  rapidly  on.  That  long-ago  bride  had 
not  known  what  was  ahead  of  her  then.  But  every 
fibre  of  her  clean  young  soul  and  body  had  rebelled. 
Now,  nine  years  later,  looking  back,  a  wave  of  utter 
revolt  more  keen  even  than  that  of  her  marriage  day 
rose  over  her.  How  could  they — his  mother,  her 
mother — let  him  take  her  to  that  room,  trapped, 
cornered,  with  no  way  out  in  the  eyes  of  God  or  man — 
innocent  little  fool  that  she  had  been  at  nineteen ! 

Mushrooms!  She  paused  at  a  market,  her  thoughts 
instantly  diverted.  Allen  was  fond  of  them.  His 
wife  had  an  Englishwoman's  dislike  of  parcels,  but  she 
carried  home  a  pound  of  mushrooms  in  a  paper  bag. 

There  was  another  stop  at  the  old  book-store;  this 
was  always  a  joy.  She  never  tired  of  browsing  over 
the  musty  heaps  of  books;  often  she  put  them  in 
order  for  old  Monsieur  Lejeal,  sometimes  she  even 
made  a  sale  for  him.  And  here  was  Disraeli's  "Curi- 
osities," which  Allen  had  wanted  for  years!  There 
was  no  book  in  the  world  that  would  not  slowly  rise  to 
the  surface  here,  if  one  waited  patiently  enough ! 

She  came  into  the  stuffy  sitting-room  triumphantly, 
with  her  book,  her  news,  and  the  promised  dainty. 

"Allen,  I  had  such  a  nice  luncheon — and  I  heard  a 
bit  of  news.  Little  Miss  Warren,  you  know 

"Please  shut  that  door!"  the  harsh  voice  said,  unen- 
couragingly. 

"I  was  going  to  shut  it — just  as  soon  as  I  can  lay 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  57 

down  these  things!  Miss  Warren  and  the  brother 
of  Fred  Winship — the  one  you  met  and  I  didn't— 

"Are  going  to  be  married,  of  course,"  he  interrupted, 
eyeing  the  book.  "Oh,  you  got  it,  did  you?  What 
was  the  explanation  of  the  delay?" 

"Why,"  she  said,  a  little  dashed,  "don't  you  think 
it  remarkable  in  him  to  get  it  at  all  ? " 

A  pause.     Then: 

"Do  I  think  it  remarkable  for  a  book-dealer  to  get 
a  book?  No,  I  do  not.  And  what  did  he  ask  you 
for  it?" 

"A  dollar  and " 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  dollars,  my  dear!" 

"Well,  about  four  and  six." 

"H'm,  he's  a  fool  then,"  said  Sir  Allen,  opening 
his  mouth  for  the  powder  she  shook  out  upon  his 
tongue,  after  a  shrewd,  discontented  glance  at  her. 
"It's  extremely  rare,  now.  He  could  have  asked  a 
sovereign — the  ass.  It's  in  fair  condition,  too " 

He  brooded  over  it.  His  wife  carried  the  mushrooms 
into  the  kitchen,  and  looked  at  the  pink  silk  stockings 
that  Hannah  had  bought  for  her  little  girl,  and  the 
bottle  of  cologne  in  a  case  that  Bertha  had  gotten  to 
give  her  cousin,  a  widow  with  four  young  children. 
She  curried  the  mushrooms,  and  made  a  fruit  tart; 
Allen  Lombard's  invalidism  did  not  affect  his  appetite 
which  was  that  of  a  healthy  man. 

His  mother  was  strong  and  hearty  at  seventy-five, 
his  grandfather  had  died  only  a  few  years  ago,  at 
ninety.  Sometimes  his  young  wife  pondered  on  these 
things. 

She  sat  opposite  him  at  dinner,  and  when  the  table 
was  cleared  away,  took  her  chair  and  her  book.  He 


58  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

had  been  silent  to-day,  as  he  often  was,  but  now  he 
wanted  to  read  her  something  concerning  the  Philis- 
tines. She  picked  up  the  knitting,  that  was  for  Han- 
nah's little  Ethel  Hildegarde,  and  listened. 

Allen  read  badly,  but  with  deep  interest.  His  wife 
listened  intelligently,  eyeing  her  work,  the  fire,  and  his 
absorbed  face.  The  room,  the  house,  the  street,  were 
all  still  except  that  harsh,  monotonous  voice. 
k  *  .  .  .  .  'it  has  been  suggested  that  this  took 
place  not  at  Ashkelon,  but  at  a  small  site  in  the  valley 
of  Elah  called  Khurbet,  or  ruin,  Askalan.  This  is 
certainly  nearer  to  Timnath.  .  .  /  Look  on  the 
map "  directed  Allen,  interrupting  himself. 

She  seized  an  open  volume  of  an  encyclopedia. 

"  Here's  Timnath — and  here's  the  valley  of  Elah " 

said  the  rich  young  voice. 

Presently  she  was  listening  again.  She  heard  Bertha 
go  out,  heard  Hannah  creak  upstairs.  All  the  clocks 
said  nine — ten — eleven.  Bertha  came  in  again,  creaked 
upstairs  in  her  turn. 

It  was  time  for  gruel,  and  the  tray,  and  the  sedative 
narcotic  powder.  Every  bone  in  her  body  ached  with 
the  long  strain  of  sitting  still.  Every  fibre  of  her  soul 
cried  out  for  something  to  do — something  to  think 
about — something  to  care  for! 

She  got  up,  feeling  sleepy,  chill,  stiff.  A  great  yawn 
took  her  suddenly,  as  she  went  out  to  the  immaculate 
kitchen.  Her  head  felt  heavy,  but  not  with  sleep. 

The  sucking  gas-jet,  the  dim  bedroom,  the  fresh 
smooth  sheets,  and  the  touch  of  cool,  lifeless  skin. 
Then  she  was  dragging  herself  upstairs.  It  was  mid- 
night. Mimi  and  her  lover  were  whispering  in  the 
mellow  light  of  the  drawing-room  of  the  Curran  house, 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  59 

or  perhaps  they  were  dining  with  friends,  again,  watched 
— admired — loved.  Mrs.  Lombard  knelt  for  a  long 
time  at  the  low  sill  of  her  dormer  window,  her  chin  on 
her  palm,  the  warm,  silent  winter  night  transforming 
the  square  below  her  into  beauty,  and  thought  of 
them,  and  of  many  things. 


CHAPTER  VI 

CHRISTMAS  came  and  went,  with  no  variation  of  her 
days.  But  the  nights  were  varied  in  a  most  unwelcome 
fashion.  Allen,  who  had  until  now  waited  all  day  for 
evening  and  the  narcotic  powder  that  brought  him 
seven  or  eight  hours  of  sound  sleep,  found  it  beginning 
to  fail  him.  By  the  end  of  a  bitter,  dark  January,  his 
wife  had  reason  to  look  back  at  the  earlier  winter,  and 
wonder  what  had  ever  fretted  her,  while  her  nights 
were  unbroken. 

He  would  go  off  as  usual,  at  about  midnight.  But 
between  two  and  three  o'clock  he  awakened,  weary, 
excited,  wide-eyed. 

His  wife  would  stumble  downstairs  in  her  wrapper, 
in  an  agony  of  sleepiness.  There  would  be  more  gruel, 
a  hot  foot-bath,  reading  aloud;  she  would  watch  him 
compose  himself  afresh,  and  herself  get  what  rest  she 
could  in  an  armchair.  At  three,  perhaps  at  four  or 
five  o'clock,  he  might  doze;  but  she  was  cold  and  ex- 
cited herself  then,  and  would  creep  upstairs  aching  and 
'wide-awake,  to  be  perhaps  roused  from  her  first  deep 
sleep  an  hour  later. 

The  days  grew  dreadful  to  her  with  heaviness  and 
headache,  the  nights  were  horror  to  them  both.  Doc- 
tor Gedney,  trim,  shaven,  with  his  neat  little  moustache 
silver-gray  against  his  fresh  pink  skin,  would  advise 
patience. 

"I  think  the  bad  nights  won't  last  long,"  Doctor 

60 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  61 

Gedney  said,  one  dark  wintry  day,  in  a  sort  of  soothing 
sing-song.  "That's  the  main  trouble.  I  think  I 
would  try  not  to  think  about  them — suppose  we  take 
the  gruel  and  the  morphine  a  little  later?  Midnight, 
eh?  Suppose  we  try  that,  Mrs.  Lombard?" 

"He  wants  two  powders,"  she  said,  frowning  dis- 
tressedly,  with  a  glance  at  the  scowling  invalid.  But 
Doctor  Gedney  became  instantly  animated. 

"Oh,  no,  no.  That's  out  of  the  question!"  he  ex- 
claimed, putting  his  gold-rimmed  glasses  deliberately 
into  their  case,  and  rising.  "Why,  come,"  he  said  to 
his  patient,  "you've  nothing  to  do  but  sit  here  and  be 
waited  on  all  day — some  of  us  other  fellows  would  be 
glad  enough  to  change  places  with  you  for  a  while!" 

And  with  a  quick,  bird-like  glance  from  one  face  to 
another,  the  doctor  went  off  upon  his  rounds. 

One  evening  Fred  Winship  came  out,  to  play  chess,  crib- 
bage,  anything,  until  one  o'clock.  He  begged  his  hostess, 
who  looked  utterly  worn,  almost  dazed  with  weariness 
and  discouragement,  to  get  some  sleep  while  she  might. 

"I'll  show  you  where  the  aspirin  is,"  she  answered, 
and  led  him  to  the  little  shelf  in  the  pantry  where  her 
medicines  were  stored.  "At  nine  and  eleven,"  she 
said,  her  eyelids  falling  with  sleep  as  she  spoke. 

"And  what  about  this  one?"  Fred  opened  another 
box,  where  folded  papers  were  also  neatly  aligned. 

"Oh,  no — that's  the  morphine,  that's  the  last 
thing,  Fred!"  She  blundered  against  him,  laughing  at 
her  own  heaviness.  "You  are  an  angel  to  do  this!" 

She  stumbled  upstairs  to  bed,  and,  in  keen  sympathy, 
he  watched  her  go.  It  was  brutal  to  call  her  at  mid- 
night, but  Mr.  Lombard  would  wait  no  longer.  She 
must  come  down,  to  heat  the  milk  and  the  gruel,  and 


62  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

arrange  the  bedroom;  she  thanked  Fred  for  his  care, 
with  heavy  eyes. 

And  at  four  o'clock  she  was  up  again,  Allen  in  a 
frenzy  of  rebellion.  The  next  night,  and  the  next  and 
the  next,  there  was  not  an  hour's  unbroken  rest  for 
either  of  them. 

Despite  her  fires  and  her  hot  drinks,  the  bitter  winter 
chill  was  upon  the  house;  outside  were  the  locked  icy 
blackness  and  the  throbbing  stars.  Lamps  made 
dim  pits  of  twilight  in  the  gloom,  clocks  struck  strange 
hours.  Patiently  she  fired  the  stoves,  struck  matches, 
hurried  about  in  blinking  stupor. 

She  would  pause,  surprised.     Bells?    The  Angelus 
from  the  little  Catholic  church  behind  St.   Thomas', 
of  course !     But  how  black  the  winter  mornings  were ! 

The  invalid  might  fall  asleep;  there  was  no  sleep 
now  for  her.  She  dared  not  try  a  hot  bath,  the  bath- 
room was  next  to  his  room,  the  noise  of  running  water 
would  waken  him.  She  would  sit  drowsing  before  the 
fire,  curled  uncomfortably  in  her  Chinese  silk  coat 
of  jade  blue. 

It  would  seem  good  to  her  to  creep  to  the  window, 
to  see  sunshine  breaking  gladly  over  the  snow,  and  the 
little  book-seller  yawning  over  his  first  sale.  Day 
again — the  blessed,  heartening  day! 

Early  in  February  Doctor  Gedney  was  angrily  dis- 
missed, and  the  night  came  when  Allen  Lombard  had 
his  double  dose  of  narcotics,  and  slept  for  a  wonderful 
restoring  ten  hours.  His  wife,  sleeping  almost  as 
heavily  as  he  did,  rose  rested  and  refreshened,  and  life 
resumed  almost  its  normal  tone.  But  Doctor  Gedney 
did  not  come  back,  and  fear — fear  of  another  such 
hideous  time,  haunted  them  both. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  65 

Sometimes  Mimi  came  out,  to  sit  murmuring  quietly 
beside  the  fire.  One  day  she  somewhat  timidly  sug- 
gested bringing  Stephen,  but  Mrs.  Lombard  shook  her 
head  in  a  quick  negative. 

"Not  while  Allen  is  so  ill!"  she  said,  positively,  with 
a  warning  glance  toward  him.  He  had  fallen  asleep 
in  his  chair,  his  florid  face  looked  angry  even  in  un- 
consciousness, his  wiry,  grizzled  hair  was  in  disorder. 

"Then  let  me  spin  you  up  to  the  club  for  lunch 
to-morrow  ?" 

Again  the  fearful  glance. 

"Impossible,  Mimi,  thank  you!" 

"But  you  don't  get  any  fresh  air  at  all!"  protested 
Mimi. 

Mrs.  Lombard  looked  steadily  at  her  tea-cup,  set 
it  carefully  on  the  table;  Mimi  saw  the  even  suffusion 
of  color  under  the  warm,  creamy  skin,  and  the  tears 
that  brimmed  her  eyes  and  that  she  made  no  motion 
to  wipe  away. 

She  laid  an  affectionate  hand  over  the  other  woman's 
hand,  and  after  a  few  seconds  Mrs.  Lombard  looked  up 
with  her  usual  composed  glance,  and  touched  a  hand- 
kerchief to  her  wet  lashes.  And  as  always,  her  least 
slight  gesture,  and  her  every  quiet  look,  deepened  the 
fascination  she  had  always  possessed  for  the  eager 
girl  beside  her.  A  certain  reflected  gravity  and  poise 
had  come  to  Mimi,  even  in  those  few  weeks  of  intimacy 
with  the  more  developed  woman;  she  told  Stephen 
wistfully  that  she  wished  she  were  more  like  Mrs. 
Lombard! 

"You  are  pretty  nice  as  you  are,  Mimi,"  Stephen 
said,  with  his  kindly  shrewd  smile. 

"I  am  nice,  in  my  way!"  Mimi  conceded,  sombrely. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"But  I  have  so  much.     And  Lucretia  is  wonderful— 
without  anything.     Tied  to  that  hateful  old  villain 

"You  assume  that  she  doesn't  love  him?  She  has 
said  so?" 

"Said  so!  She's  not  that  kind — she  never  com- 
plains. But  wait  until  you  meet  her,  Steve,  and  see 
him!" 

"Your  geese,  and  Fred's,  are  all  swans,"  Stephen 
remarked,  indulgently.  She  was  on  the  arm  of  his 
chair,  and  he  had  anchored  her  fast  with  one  of  his 
own  strong  arms  about  her.  The  girlish,  thoughtful 
face  was  resting  against  the  sleek  crest  of  his  hair. 

It  was  one  of  their  rare,  happy  hours  alone;  Stephen 
had  brought  her  home  from  a  dinner  he  could  not  at- 
tend himself,  and  although  he  was  tired  and  silent, 
and  Mimi  knew  it,  he  pleased  her  with  a  plea  for  another 
five  minutes,  and  then  another,  before  the  fire.  So 
they  would  linger,  as  man  and  wife,  before  their  own 
fire,  before  another  wet  and  windy  March  came  in, 
thought  Mimi,  her  heart  filled  with  solemn  and  wonder- 
ful content.  Her  husband — this  splendid,  dignified, 
devoted  Stephen! 

Sometimes  she  had  thoughtful  moments  of  wondering 
whether  she  had  roused  in  him  a  love  at  all  measurable 
by  her  own.  Their  natures  were  different,  Mimi  re- 
flected. Perhaps  a  man  never  felt  as  much  as  a  woman. 
Devoted,  tender,  thoughtful  of  her  happiness  he  had 
always  been,  he  was  only  more  devoted,  more  tender, 
more  thoughtful  now.  There  was  no  fire  in  the  pleased, 
quiet  fashion  he  had  of  putting  his  arm  about  Jier, 
and  kissing  her  when  they  met.  There  was  no  fear — 
no  jealousy — no  ecstasy — in  Stephen.  It  was  all 
deep  and  grateful  content;  she  knew  he  anticipated 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  65 

their  life  together  as  one  of  unchanging  happiness  and 
safety. 

Perhaps  that  was  the  man's  way,  the  girl  thought. 
After  all,  if  it  were  not  so,  why  were  so  many  girls 
anxious  and  uncertain  as  to  their  admirers'  feelings, 
month  after  month?  Stephen  had  caused  Mimi  real 
unhappiness,  in  the  past  year,  with  this  kindly  aloofness. 
Sometimes  she  looked  at  her  ring  now,  the  diamond 
ring  of  his  mother,  re-set  for  her,  and  wondered  if  it 
was  all  a  dream — that  December  night  when  she  had 
been  tired  and  blue,  when  she  had  cried  for  no  reason 
at  all,  and  when  Stephen  had  somehow  gotten  his  arm 
about  her,  and  had  asked  her  half-smilingly  what 
people  would  think  if  her  guardian  walked  off  with  her 
and  with  her  fortune? 

She  remembered  that  just  before  this  remark  she  had 
said,  tearfully: 

"Yes,  you  do  advise  me,  and  you  do  like  me,  but  I 
want  someone  to  love  me!" 

And  when  she  thought  of  this  speech  Mimi's  face 
burned,  and  she  wished  that  she  had  died  before  she 
uttered  it!  Of  course  it  hadn't  influenced  him,  prob- 
ably he  had  not  even  clearly  heard  it,  yet  his  answer 
had  been  to  put  that  dear  and  comforting  arm  about 
her,  and  ask  her  that  whimsical  question. 

Still,  it  was  hardly  possible  that  he  could  ask  more 
in  a  wife  than  the  youth,  beauty,  wealth,  and  devotion 
that  Mimi  poured  out  at  his  feet;  she  would  have  been 
stupid  indeed  not  to  know  that  all  Sanbridge  could  not 
produce  such  another.  And  she  was  wise  enough  to 
know  that,  with  a  man  of  his  type,  marriage  would 
bring  a  steadily  deepening  and  ripening  love,  that  his 
home  and  his  children  would  cement  it,  and  that  ten 


66  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

years  from  now  the  devoted  husband  of  Mimi  Winship 
would  be  pointed  out  in  the  town  as  its  most  happily 
married  man. 

So  they  were  engaged,  and  except  for  this  faint  cloud, 
Mimi's  sky  was  radiant.  She  loved  every  minute  of 
these  happy  days,  and  tasted  their  bliss  quite  con- 
sciously. In  the  bitter  winter  mornings  she  rose  late, 
breakfasted  in  her  room,  wandering  about  leisurely 
from  telephone  to  dressing-table,  scattering  letters  as 
she  went.  Marjorie  or  Grace  might  come  in;  there  was 
endless  food  for  talk. 

Then,  veiled  and  rosy,  with  orchids  or  camellias 
pinned  on  their  furs,  the  girls  went  out  into  the  bracing 
sunshine;  to  shop,  to  lunch  at  the  club,  to  meet  Stephen 
perhaps,  or  to  play  bridge.  Everywhere  with  Mimi 
went  the  aura  of  the  fortunately  engaged,  and  because 
she  was  so  unspoiled,  so  frank  and  sweet  and  sensible, 
so  unwilling,  even  now,  to  monopolize  the  presents  and 
the  good  times,  everyone  rejoiced  with  her  in  her  happi- 
ness. 

The  trousseau  increased  steadily,  in  the  biggest 
spare-room;  the  old  walnut  bed  was  covered  with 
dainty  frail  embroidered  linen,  the  big  walnut  ward- 
robe held  wraps  and  little  silk  morning-gowns,  and  the 
enchanting  tweed,  and  the  peacock-blue  hat.  Wed- 
ding garments — always  to  have  their  special  place  in 
a  wife's  heart,  as  long  as  a  feather  or  a  thread  of  them 
was  left  to  remind  her  of  the  tremulous,  radiant  hours 
in  which  her  girl's  hands  gathered  them  together! 

Sometimes  Mimi  brought  one  of  them  downstairs. 

"Steve,  look — it's  a  short  coat — you  know,  to 
wear  with  striped  skirts  for  lunch  at  the  club,  or  even 
downtown,  with  a  fur.  Isn't  that  stunning?  And 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  67 

look  at  this  frill — June  Rogers  sent  it  to  me  from  New 
York.  Wait !" 

And  Mimi  would  clasp  the  delicate  cascade  of  lace 
about  her  throat,  and  look  at  him  in  solemn  expectation. 

"I  know  you  are  very  cute!"  Stephen  would  say, 
with  his  fine  dark  eyes  shining  with  affectionate  ap- 
preciation. 

The  question  of  their  establishment  was  troublesome. 
Mimi  had  a  large  house,  in  quiet,  dignified  West  Mary- 
land Street,  only  three  blocks  away  from  Mrs.  Curran, 
and  in  quite  the  nicest  block  of  the  old  town.  But, 
to  her  amazement,  Stephen  was  not  quite  ready  to 
dislodge  the  present  tenant,  a  prosperous  boarding- 
house  keeper,  and  take  possession. 

"I'd  rather  buy  you  a  house  some  day,"  he  said, 
slowly. 

"Oh,  Stevie — aren't  you  absurd!  I  don't  need  the 
rent,"  Mimi  protested.  "And  we  could  fix  it  over! 
But  it's  really  too  big,  of  course,  and  it  isn't  nearly  as 
delightful  as  the  new  houses  out  Keystone  road,"  she 
added,  diverted — "Steve,  could  we  buy  one  of  those 
houses  ?  Cream  brick,  and  four  bathrooms,  and  French 
windows — oh,  they  are  wonderful!  Colonial  halls, 
you  know,  gray  and  white — six  fireplaces  in  the  one 
Marjorie  and  I  went  through!" 

"We  might  rent  one,  dear." 

"But,  Steve,  why  couldn't  we  buy  it  outright?" 

"Well,  we  might,  some  day,  when  I  get  the  last 
of  my  father's  troubles  straightened  out."  His  man- 
ner warned  her,  but  she  could  not  quite  subside. 

"Steve,"  she  said,  gravely,  "you  are  going  to  be 
sensible  about  my  having — having  money?" 

The  look  in  the  gray  eyes  was  not  encouraging. 


68  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"I  hope  so!"  he  said,  briefly.  Mimi,  rather  fright- 
ened, dismissed  the  unfortunate  topic  at  once.  Her 
dream  of  spindle-backed  chairs  and  four-poster  beds 
in  the  colonial  rooms  suffered  no  diminution,  however, 
and  the  very  next  day  she  bought  at  an  auction  a 
pie-crust  table  and  a  mahogany  chest  that  would  be- 
come no  setting  so  well  as  a  gray-and-white  colonial 
hall. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MRS.  LOMBARD  asked  Fred  for  some  of  the  details, 
on  a  certain  evening  in  late  March,  when  Fred  had 
generously  given  a  whole  evening  to  amusing  the  in- 
valid. She  was  sewing,  in  her  basket  chair,  the  men 
had  finished  a  long  hard  game  of  chess.  Fred  told 
her  of  various  dinners  and  luncheons,  of  the  blue  hat 
and  the  chest  of  silver,  and  that  Mimi  had  set  her  heart 
upon  a  colonial  house  in  the  Keystone  Road,  which 
Stephen  couldn't  buy,  and  the  builder  wouldn't  rent. 

"So  they  may  take  an  apartment  downtown," 
Fred  said.  "  But  there's  no  hurry.  Steve's  having  my 
mother's  pearls  set  for  her — they're  small,  but  real. 
I  don't  know  when  my  grandfather  ever  had  the  price 
of  them,  myself!" 

"You  had  no  interest  in  them?"  Mrs.  Lombard 
smiled  in  her  friendly  fashion. 

"  I  had  some  emeralds,  and  a  diamond — I  sold  them 
while  I  was  in  college,"  Fred  confessed.  "They  were 
no  good  to  me!  The  pearls  are  Steve's  and  of  course 
Mimi  is  crazy  about  them!" 

"Everything  is  for  Mimi  now,"  Mrs.  Lombard 
mused,  smilingly. 

"Show  Fred  your  necklace!"  her  husband  com- 
manded. 

She  hesitated,  rose  obediently.  They  heard  her 
going  upstairs.  When  she  came  down,  a  shabby  blue 
velvet  case  in  her  fingers,  it  was  to  put  into  Fred's 

69 


70  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

hand  the  most  perfect  chain  of  rosy  pearls  that  he  had 
ever  seen.  Each  globe,  firm,  shining,  faintly  tinted, 
radiated  a  soft  lustre;  the  centre  dozen  were  as  large 
as  the  tip  of  a  woman's  little  finger,  the  others  graded 
to  smaller  sizes,  to  the  diamond  clasp. 

The  warm,  soft,  young  hand  that  held  this  age-old 
miracle  of  beauty  touched  Fred's  hand,  and  woman  and 
jewels  thrilled  him  suddenly  together.  He  glanced  up, 
and  her  exquisite,  serious  face,  with  the  firm  sweet 
mouth  the  only  line  of  colour  in  the  golden  tones  of 
skin  and  eyes  and  hair,  suddenly  seemed  to  him  as 
incongruous  a  treasure,  down  here  in  dingy  Kingsgreen 
Square,  as  were  the  matchless  pearls  in  this  stuffy, 
over-crowded  room. 

Such  a  woman,  as  a  woman,  had  small  appeal  to 
Fred;  she  was  too  silent,  too  reticent,  too  much  aloof. 
He  admired  her,  he  was  sorry  for  her,  but  she  was  not 
much  "fun."  But  to-night,  for  the  first  time,  a  sense  of 
genuine  pity  and  loyalty  toward  her  stirred  in  his 
heart.  Imprisoned  here 

"You  can  see  how  often  we  have  use  for  them," 
Allen  Lombard  said,  drily,  reading  his  thought. 

"Great  Heavens — they  are  gorgeous!"  Fred  stam- 
mered. 

"They  belonged  to  the  Dundonalds,"  said  Mrs.  Lom- 
bard, seating  herself  on  a  low  hassock  at  Fred's  knee, 
and  cascading  the  rich  tumbled  mass  of  them  from  one 
smooth  palm  to  another.  "Allen's  aunt  married  the 
Laird,  and — when  she  died,  gave  his  mother  the  pearls." 

"Put  them  on,"  said  the  invalid,  harshly. 

"In  this  old  frock?"  But,  as  always,  she  obeyed 
him,  lifting  rounded  young  arms,  bare  to-night,  and 
turning  innocent,  wise  eyes  to  Fred,  for  his  approval. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  71 

The  perfect  jewels  lay  upon  the  perfect  skin,  and  their 
glow  seemed  to  add  a  certain  shining  light  to  the  amber 
eyes,  under  the  somewhat  tumbled  masses  of  amber- 
colored  hair. 

"By  George — you  look  beautiful !"  Fred  said,  with  a 
sort  of  awkward  boyish  earnestness.  Mrs.  Lombard 
smiled  as  she  laid  the  necklace  once  more  in  its  case. 

"I  haven't  worn  them  for  more  than  a  year,"  she 
said,  simply. 

Fred  walked  away  from  the  house,  an  hour  later, 
with  his  mind  full  of  her,  and  her  tragedy. 

"She  ought  to  divorce  him,  the  old  grouch,"  said 
Fred  to  himself,  adding  instantly,  "She  can't,  I  suppose. 
But  she's  got  a  gay  life  ahead  of  her  for  the  next  twenty 
years!" 

He  stopped  at  a  drug-store;  the  narcotic  powders 
and  the  salicylate  prescription  were  almost  gone,  and  he 
had  told  Mrs.  Lombard  that  he  would  have  no  trouble 
in  filling  the  prescriptions  again  for  her. 

"Put  up  about  fifty  of  each  of  those,  Kelly,"  he  said 
to  the  clerk.  "And  deliver  them  at  the  district 
attorney's  office  some  time  to-morrow,  will  you?" 

The  chemist,  whose  expression  had  been  dubious, 
brightened. 

"That's  all  right,  if  it's  for  Steve  Winship,"  he  re- 
turned, amiably.  "  I  thought  I  might  have  to  telephone 
Gedney,  do  you  see?  But  I  guess  it's  all  right.  Just 
sign  here,  will  you,  Fred  ?  Here,  under  March  twenty- 
sixth." 

"Thanks,  Kelly."  Fred  sauntered  out.  "I  could 
have  sent  'em  straight  to  her,"  he  reflected,  "but  this 
gives  me  an  excuse  to  run  out  and  see  them  to-morrow 
or  Saturday!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AFTER  several  days  of  half-frightened,  half-daring 
thought,  after  business  consultations  with  Uncle  Sam 
and  the  real  estate  agent,  and  after  she  and  Marjorie 
had  inspected  the  cream-brick  colonial  house  from  its 
fascinating  gabled  attic  to  its  roomy  cement  basement, 
from  its  sidewalk  row  of  young  maples  to  its  airy  big 
garage,  Mimi  decided  to  go  ahead  upon  her  own  respon- 
sibility in  the  matter  of  the  house,  and  trust  to  her 
deepening  influence  upon  Stephen  to  reconcile  him  to 
its  beauty  and  comfort  when  the  right  moment  for 
revelation  came.  It  was  a  very  simple  matter  to  make 
a  first  payment,  and  swear  Uncle  Sam  and  the  agent  to 
secrecy.  Mimi  began  to  watch  for  an  opportunity  for 
confession — no  man  in  the  world  could  be  so  proud 
as  to  resist  the  joy  of  these  brick  fireplaces  and  tapes- 
tried walls! 

Just  a  week  after  Fred's  evening  with  the  Lombards, 
when  he  had  been  shown  the  pearls,  she  came  home 
weary  from  a  day  of  great  adventures,  to  have  tea, 
to  dress  for  a  dinner  at  the  Rutgers',  and  to  meet 
Stephen  downstairs  at  seven  o'clock. 

She  must  come  home  early  to-night,  she  reminded 
herself;  the  next  day  she  and  Marjorie  and  Ted  had 
planned  to  drive  up  to  the  little  cabin  on  Red  Pine 
Mountain,  seventy  miles  away,  to  see  what  the  spring 
was  doing  to  Mimi's  beloved  hemlocks  and  pines,  and 
how  old  Matea  had  survived  the  winter.  Mimi's 

72 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  73 

father  had  had  lumber  interests  there  years  ago,  but 
the  place  had  no  real  commercial  value  now.  How- 
ever, the  girl  loved  to  spend  eight  or  ten  weeks  there 
every  summer,  and  often  the  young  people  of  San- 
bridge  went  up  for  happy  week-end  visits  in  the  spring 
and  fall,  to  cook,  tramp,  ride  horseback,  and  glory  in 
the  mountain  freedom.  Matea,  an  old  Italian  woman, 
sometimes  with  visiting  sons  and  daughters,  more  often 
alone,  lived  there  all  the  year  long. 

"Steve,"  said  Mimi  to-night,  with  the  fragrant 
kiss  of  greeting  she  gave  him  in  the  dim  hallway, 
"can  you  go  with  us  to-morrow ?" 

"I  think  so — I'm  to  telephone  at  eight,  and  if 
everything's  serene,  of  course  I'll  go!"  he  answered, 
appreciative  fond  eyes  upon  the  slender  dark-eyed  girl 
in  her  silver  gauze. 

"  You — are — a — darling!"  And  he  had  another  kiss, 
and  laughed  with  a  little  pleasant  embarrassment  as 
his  aunt  panted  toward  them  from  the  drawing-room. 
"I  saw  dear  old  Cousin  Mary  Dolliver  to-day,"  Mimi 
recounted,  happily,  between  them  in  the  closed  motor- 
car, "and  there  was  a  sale  of  white  enamelled  saucepans 
at  Grant's,  and  I  bought — oh,  forty!  And,  Steve, 
a  ducky  white-painted  table  and  four  chairs  for  the 
servants'  little  dining-room— 

"What  if  we  have  seven  servants?"  Stephen  asked,  in 
great  spirits.  "  But  seriously,  Mimi,"  he  added, "we  may 
not  have  a  servants'  dining-room,  much  less  the  four— 

"I  just  said  to  the  clerk  to  set  it  aside!"  Mimi 
amended,  hurriedly.  This  dangerous  topic  was  close 
to  her  wonderful  secret;  she  pressed  Mrs.  Curran's 
foot  with  an  agitated  silver  slipper,  and  the  Judge 
gave  a  tremendous  "Ah'm!" 


74  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

But  Stephen  was  blessedly  unsuspecting,  and  merely 
said,  good-naturedly: 

"Go  ahead  and  buy  up  the  city,  Mimi.  We'll  have 
an  auction  sale  on  the  sidewalk  of  what  won't  go  into 
the  apartment!" 

"He  won't  be  cross  one  second!"  Mimi  assured 
herself,  gladly.  She  had  experienced  some  little 
trepidation,  with  her  delight,  in  the  thought  of  pre- 
senting this  independent  young  district  attorney  with 
the  identical  house  that  he  had  said  he  would  not 
permit  her  to  buy. 

But  to-night  he  was  wonderful — so  much  the  sweetest, 
and  cleverest,  and  finest  man  among  them  all!  Every- 
body listened  to  him,  and  deferred  to  him,  moving 
about  with  such  dignity  and  charm;  the  sleek  dark 
head  bending  so  interestedly  over  tiresome  old  Grandma 
Rutger's  chair,  the  finely  built  square  figure  always 
at  its  best  in  evening  dress! 

He  brought  her  home  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  and 
she  knew — and  was  thrilled  to  know — that  he  was  be- 
ginning to  look  forward  to  their  little  late  talks  over  the 
drawing-room  fire.  She  tossed  her  wraps  off  in  the  hall, 
and  led  the  way  to  the  waiting  chairs,  and  loved  him 
for  quite  deliberately  moving  his  own  close  to  hers, 
so  that  his  big  hand  could  hold  her  fingers  while  they 
talked.  There  was  something  infinitely  exciting,  to 
the  watching  girl,  in  his  quiet  manner,  his  quiet  glance, 
the  obvious  pleasure  with  which  he  sank  into  his  chair, 
and  the  smile  he  gave  her  without  words. 

"Mimi,  this  is  nice!"  he  said,  simply.  And  then 
suddenly:  "What's  that?" 

For  there  was  the  slam  of  the  street  door,  and  the 
sound  of  quick  feet  in  the  hall. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  7,' 

It  was  Fred  who  was  in  the  doorway,  excited,  pale, 
and  in  haste.  As  Mimi  and  Stephen  got  to  their 
feet  in  amazement,  he  came  toward  his  brother. 

"What  is  it,  old  boy?"  Mimi  did  not  miss  the  ready 
affection  and  solicitude  in  Stephen's  tone.  Fred, 
somewhat  out  of  breath,  put  a  detaining  hand  upon 
Stephen's  shoulder. 

"Say,  Steve,  Fm  awfully  sorry  to  bother  you. 
But  you  can  help  me  out  of  a  bad  hole!"  he  said. 

Stephen  did  not  answer  in  words,  but  in  the  gray 
eyes,  narrowed  to  their  pleasant  smile,  there  was  a 
mingled  look  of  loyalty,  amusement,  even  a  certain 
satisfaction  that  this  beloved  younger  man  should 
turn  to  him  in  his  need. 

"You  were  driving  Harry  Harvey's  car,  positively 

not  more  than  fifteen  miles  an  hour "Mimi  prompted, 

one  bare  arm  slipped  through  Stephen's,  her  bright 
face  resting  lightly  against  his  shoulder. 

"Oh,  my  Lord,  no — nothing  like  that!"  Fred, 
heartened  by  sympathy,  caught  his  brother's  hand 
and  looked  with  a  grin  at  Mimi.  "You're  a  prince, 
Steve!"  he  said,  gratefully.  "But  this  isn't  me. 
It's  friends  of  mine — the  Lombards.  They're — she's 
in  serious  trouble!" 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry!"  Mimi  exclaimed,  swallowing 
down  the  first  bitter  little  pang  of  jealousy  she  had 
ever  known.  How  Stephen  loved  Fred — how  Stephen 
loved  Fred!  Fred  who,  with  the  charm  and  the  affec- 
tion, had  given  him  so  much  care  and  worry ! 

"What  is  it,  Fred?"  she  made  herself  say. 

"It's  Mr.  Lombard."  Fred  turned  from  her  to 
his  brother.  "He's  been  an  invalid  for  years,  Steve. 
Well — you  see — he's  dead." 


76  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Dead!"  Mimi  whispered.  Stephen  looked  grave. 
"He  was  kind  of  dopey  this  afternoon,"  Fred  ex- 
plained. "I  stopped  in  at  about  five  o'clock,  and  Mrs. 
Lombard  told  me  that  he  had  gone  to  sleep  in  his 
chair — the  first  time  it  ever  happened,  and  she  was 
going  to  try  to  get  some  sleep;  they  were  both  worn 
out,  with  bad  nights.  And  that  was  all  I  knew,  until 
half  an  hour  ago,  when  she  called  me  up  at  the  club, 
and  said  that  she  had  been  trying  to  get  Gedney-— 

but  he's  out  of  town — she  was  all  broken  up !" 

"What  doctor  was  there?"  Stephen  asked. 
"Well,  that  was  it.  They  didn't  have  one!  They'd 
dismissed  Gedney,  do  you  see?  Steve,  you'll  come 
there  with  me,  won't  you?"  Fred  interrupted  him- 
self, imploringly.  "I  said  you  would.  She  doesn't 
know  what  to  do!" 

"But    listen    a    minute,    Fred.     This    looks    like    a 
case  for  the  coroner;  did  you  tell  her  that?     No  doctor, 

you  know.     It's  perfectly  simple " 

"No,   but   that's   just   it!     We   don't   want    Reilly 
messing  around  there.     Poor  girl,  she's  sick  with  bad 

nights  and  worry  and  everything  else " 

"Poor  girl?     Is  she  young?" 
"She's  a  lot  younger  than  he  is!" 
"She's  lovely,"  said  Mimi,  trying  not  to  feel  slighted 
and  hurt.     "I  wish  I  could  go!" 

Stephen  gave  her  his  big-brotherly,  lenient  smile, 
but  did  not  take  her  seriously  enough  to  answer  her. 
Instead  he  turned  his  troubled  eyes  to  his  brother. 
"I  don't  see  what  I  could  do  there,  Fred." 
"But,  Steve,  will  you  just  come?    That's  all.     Just 
to  let  me  tell  you  the  whole  thing — truly,  truly,  I 
need  you!" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  77 

His  brother  looked  at  him  keenly;  then  his  face 
lightened. 

"Why,  of  course  I'll  come!"  he  answered,  simply. 
"If  Mimi  will  excuse  me.  I'll  get  my  hat  and  coat 
right  away." 

"You  must  go,  of  course!"  Mimi  said,  bravely. 
He  hardly  thanked  her,  hardly  acknowledged  the  wist- 
ful little  smile  she  gave  him.  He  and  Fred  were  hur- 
riedly assuming  coats  and  hats;  she  heard  a  murmur 
from  Fred  concerning  a  taxi;  Stephen's  answer  that 
his  car  was  at  the  door.  She  looked  after  them,  a 
film  of  hurt  tears  over  her  bright  eyes.  Of  course  it 
was  terrible  about  poor  Mrs.  Lombard,  of  course 
Mimi  would  want  everything  possible  done  for  her. 
But — why  need  Steve  be  involved  ?  He  had  never  even 
seen  her.  Yet  at  Fred's  request — and  when  did  Fred 
not  have  a  request  of  some  sort  ? — he  had  dashed  away 
from  her 

"He  doesn't  love  me  as  I  love  him!"  faltered  Mimi. 
A  weak  impulse  toward  tears  shook  her;  she  fought  it 
off  bravely.  "Never  mind,"  she  promised  herself, 
between  shut  teeth,  "the  time  is  coming  when  he 


CHAPTER  IX 

"Now  tell  me  about  all  this,  Fred,"  Stephen  said, 
taking  his  place  at  the  wheel,  settling  his  eyeglasses, 
and  glancing  at  his  brother. 

The  car  moved  rapidly  through  the  deserted  streets; 
the  April  night  was  soft  and  warm,  there  was  a  smell 
of  earth  and  new  grass  in  the  stirred  air. 

Fred  sketched   the  little  household  in  the  rectory. 

"Here's  the  trouble,  Steve,"  he  finished,  anxiously. 
"She's  afraid  she  overdosed  him,  do  you  see?" 

"Afraid  she  overdosed  him?"  Stephen  echoed, 
sharply.  "Doesn't  she  know?" 

"Well,  now  listen.  He's  been  taking  this  narcotic 
powder  for  months — it's  Gedney's  prescription,"  Fred 
explained.  "He  had  a  fight  with  Gedney,  last  Febru- 
ary, and  dismissed  him.  And  since  then,  things 
have  been  awfully  hard  for  her — for  them  both.  He 
hasn't  been  sleeping.  I  know  she  gave  him  two  pow- 
ders instead  of  one  once  last  month,  because  she  told 
me  so  herself,  and  so  did  he.  He  was  almost  crazy!" 

"Did  it  on  her  own  responsibility,  did  she?" 

"It  was  his." 

"But  no  doctor?" 

"Nope.     He  wouldn't  have  one!" 

"Go  on."  Stephen  turned  the  car  westward, 
toward  Kingsgreen  Square.  Fred  looked  at  his  face 
hopefully. 

"Well,  last  night  I  was  there,  and  he  was  raising  the 

78 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  79 

deuce.  He  was  always  getting  ugly,  like  that!  She 

cried "  Fred's  voice  thickened.  "  He  made  her  cry," 

he  said,  with  a  dry  throat.  "I  never  saw  her  do  that 
before!" 

"You're  there  a  good  deal,  Fred?"  his  brother 
questioned. 

"I — like  her,"  Fred  answered,  slowly.  "Nothing 
like  that!"  he  added,  quickly,  as  a  flicker  of  a  smile 
crossed  Stephen's  face. 

"Go  on,"  Stephen  encouraged. 

"She  has  some  pearls — he  gave  them  to  her," 
Fred  continued,  "and  last  night  he  was  talking  about 
sending  them  to  his  daughter,  in  Scotland,  since  he 
hadn't  a  child  of  his  own—  He  stopped  short. 

"This  was  before  you,  eh?" 

"Oh,  sure.  That  was  it!  She  came  out  to  the 
stairs  with  me,  and  she  said  that  they  were  both  half- 
mad  for  sleep — she'd  been  begging  him  to  let  her 
get  in  a  nurse,  but  he  wouldn't.  Said  he  hated  nurses. 
Standing  out  there  in  the  hall,  she  was  leaning  her 
head  against  the  wall — with  weariness — poor  woman! 
Well,  anyway,  when  I  went  in  this  afternoon,  she  ran 
down  to  the  door,  and  she  said  that  he  had  fallen  asleep 
at  last,  and  she  was  going  to  try  to  move  him  into  bed, 
and  that  then  she  would  get  some  rest  herself.  And 
that  was  all  I  knew  until  she  telephoned  to  the  club, 
about  ten  o'clock,  that  he  was  failing,  and  of  course  I 
hurried  over — and  by  George,  the  old  boy  was  gone! 
The  maids  were  standing  around  like  ghosts,  and  she 
was  kneeling  beside  the  bed,  calling  to  him — 

"And  how  does  she  account  for  this  sleepiness, 
this  sudden  going  off?"  Stephen,  who  had  been  listen- 
ing attentively,  asked  sharply. 


80  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"That's  it,  Steve.  She's  afraid — this  is  the  house, 
next  to  the  church! — she's  afraid  she  gave  him  the 
wrong  powder." 

The  car  stopped  at  the  rectory;  Fred  got  out.  Ste- 
phen dubiously  followed  him  across  the  sidewalk  to 
the  doorway.  About  them  the  old  square  was  silent 
in  the  April  night.  The  trees,  above  the  shabby 
railings  of  the  park,  were  unfurling  new  damp  leaves, 
in  the  living  darkness,  the  sky  was  thick  with  stars. 

"That's  our  old  place  over  there,  Steve,  with  the 
light  in  the  basement,  do  you  remember?" 

"Sure    enough."     Stephen    smiled,    but    his    face 
immediately  grew  grave.     "I  don't  like  this  business, 
Fred,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  the  rectory. 
"Just  come — talk  to  her!"  Fred  implored. 
"One  minute,  Fred.     Where  did  she  get  this  sleep- 
ing stuff?"       • 

"I  got  it  for  her — the  last  time.  At  Kelly's." 
"I  see.  It  looks  to  me  like  a  case  for  Reilly,  Fred. 
If  it's  all  plain  sailing,  he  simply  fills  out  a  certificate 
of  natural  death,  or  accidental  dosage.  Unless  there's 
something  wrong,  he  wouldn't  have  to  let  the  thing 
go  to  a  jury — probably  won't  want  even  an  autopsy. 

There's  no  reason  why  she  should  dread " 

"But  will  you  just  come  in  and  talk  to  her,  Steve!" 
Stephen  looked  at  his  brother,  in  the  dark  doorway. 
"Go  ahead!"  he  nodded. 

Fred  immediately  opened  the  front  street  door, 
and  they  were  in  the  hallway,  at  the  foot  of  the  short 
flight  of  stairs.  He  turned  up  the  gas,  and  they 
quietly  mounted  to  the  floor  above.  The  opened  door 
at  the  top  admitted  them  to  the  familiar,  crowded 
sitting-room. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  31 

It  was  empty,  unlighted  except  by  the  dying  fire 
and  one  dim  gas-lamp.  Glints  of  firelight  touched  the 
bowls  and  picture  frames,  and  the  backs  of  books; 
there  was  a  sweet,  haunting  odor  of  lilac  blossoms  in 
the  darkness.  The  windows  were  open  to  the  warm 
spring  air,  and  white  curtains  moved  fitfully  over  the 
sills. 

The  wheel-chair  was  gone,  and  the  bedroom  door 
closed.  There  was  nobody  in  the  room. 

But  immediately  the  frightened  red-cheeked  cook 
came  quietly  from  the  direction  of  the  kitchen. 

"Yes,  sir,  he's  gone — the  poor  man,"  she  said,  in 
answer  to  their  look  of  inquiry.  "  She's  in  there,  with 
him.  It  was  only  an  hour  or  two  ago  that  she  begun 

to  think  he  looked  queer '  added  Hannah,  with 

a  rising  inflection  of  terror. 

"There's  no  necessity  for  a  scene!1'*  Stephen  re- 
proved her. 

"No,  sir,  I  won't!"  she  said,  whimpering  and  sub- 
siding. 

"Did  a  doctor  get  here?" 

"No,  sir.  Mrs.  Lombard  was  asleep  until  almost 
ten  o'clock.  She'd  give  him  his  medicine  at  eight, 
and  then  she  dropped  off  And  when  she  finally  got 
the  hospital  on  the  'phone,  it  was — God  rest  him, 
he  was  gone!"  Hannah  interrupted  herself,  with  a 
quick  sign  of  the  cross.  "They  said  it  was  a  case  for 
the  coroner,"  she  whispered,  with  staring  eyes. 

Stephen  studied  her  thoughtfully  a  moment,  turned 
to  his  brother. 

"That's  what  it  is!"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  with  a 
nod.  "You  might  stay — if  it  would  be  the  slightest 
comfort  to  her,  but  you  can  see,  of  course " 


m  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Sh-sh!"  Fred  glanced  at  the  bedroom  door.  "I 
think  she  is  coming." 

The  door  opened  while  they  watched  it,  and  Mrs. 
Lombard  came  out.  She  evidently  had  not  heard 
them,  for  her  eyes  were  upon  the  candle  she  carried 
in  an  old-fashioned  brass  stick,  and  one  spread  hand 
guarded  the  flame.  Fred  spoke,  and  it  was  with  this 
rosy  light  upon  her  serious  face  that  she  looked  at 
them. 

A  rich  braid  of  fair  hair  fell  over  the  plain  Chinese 
undercoat  of  greenish-blue  that  she  was  wearing, 
silky  little  tendrils  framed  her  close-set  ears,  and 
touched  the  warm  brown  column  of  her  throat.  In 
the  eerie  candle-light  her  strange  eyes  blazed  like 
topazes,  she  looked  taller  to  Fred  than  he  had  thought 
her,  her  mouth  was  crimson  in  the  colorless  creamy 
brown  of  her  face. 

She  came  quietly  to  the  centre-table,  and  put  down 
her  light,  giving  Stephen  an  earnest  and  anxious,  al- 
most a  frowning  look,  as  he  was  introduced. 

"You  are  very  good  to  come,"  she  said,  without 
emotion.  The  echoes  of  her  astonishing  voice  seemed 
to  come  back  from  the  walls  of  the  quiet  room  like 
the  echo  of  a  bell.  She  had  taken  Stephen's  hands 
in  both  hers,  and  she  still  held  them  as  she  glanced 
about  for  a  chair.  "Sit  down,"  she  added,  quietly, 
nodding  at  Fred,  and  sitting  down  herself. 

The  maid  went  out;  Mrs.  Lombard's  eyes  moved 
quietly  from  one  brother  to  another,  she  seemed  in  no 
hurry  to  speak.  Stephen,  confused  by  her  utter  un- 
likeness  to  what  he  had  anticipated,  entirely  unable 
to  classify  her,  eyed  her  with  a  serious  and  critical 
scrutiny. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  83 

"I  want  to  tell  you  about  this,"  she  said,  presently. 

"Did  you  give  your  brother  an  idea " 

"I  would  like  to  hear  it  from  you,"  Stephen  said, 
directly. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  suddenly  hurried  manner. 
"Yes.  I'll  tell  you.  I  am  afraid — in  fact,  I  know, 
that  I  have  given  my  husband  three  morphine  powders 
since  two  o'clock.  I  confused  them  with  the  powder — 
the  salicylate  powder,  that  he  has  always  had,  every 
two  hours,  for  his  arthritis." 

"How  did  that — how  could  that  happen,  Mrs. 
Lombard?"  Stephen  asked,  gravely,  with  his  keen 
eyes  upon  her  face. 

"He  had  the  rheumatism  powder  at  twelve — just 
as  usual,"  she  answered,  quickly.  "I  always  poured 
it  into  his  mouth,  and  he  had  a  glass  of  water." 

"And  the  morphine  powder,  when  did  he  take  that?" 
"Oh,  the  very  last  thing  at  night,  in  hot  milk!" 

"So,  to-day "  Stephen  prompted. 

"To-day,"  she  took  it  up,  "he  had  another  powder 
at  two.  And  he  complained  then  that  it  tasted  sweet- 
ish— so  that  I  touched  the  paper  to  my  own  tongue. 
But  we  had  had  artichokes  for  luncheon,  and  I  thought 
that  perhaps  they  might  have  made  it  taste  so — as 
they  do  water.  An  hour  later,  I  was  getting  ready 
to  go  out,  when  he  said  that  he  felt  curiously  sleepy. 
It  was  such  a  strange — such  a  wonderful  feeling  for 
him!  I  coaxed  him  to  stay  awake  until  it  was  time 
for  the  four-o'clock  powder,  and  then  we  helped  him 
into  bed — we  have  had  such  dreadful  nights,  I  thought 
he  was  simply  over-tir^d,  as  I  was!  Then — that  was 
just  before  you  came,  Fred,  I  walked  about  the  square, 
and  came  in  and  had  tea,  and  wrote  a  letter — and  still 


84  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

he  slept.  I  went  into  his  room,  at  six,  he  was  still 
drowsy — said  he  had  had  such  a  wonderful  dream! — 
and  I  persuaded  him  to  take  another  powder,  and 
drink  just  a  cup  of  tea.  And  then  I  went  upstairs, 
and  threw  myself  down  in  a  wrapper,  and  went  to 
sleep — I  went  to  sleep " 

An  agony  of  anxiety  and  a  tinge  of  excitement  had 
begun  to  sound  in  her  voice;  neither  man  moved  or 
spoke. 

"I  slept  until  ten!"  she  said,  pitifully.  "Bertha 
waked  me — she  wanted  to  know  if  nobody  wanted 
any  dinner.  I  came  downstairs,  I  felt  almost  sick 
with  sleep — my  first  sleep  in  so  long! — and  I  said  I 
would  have  some  soup.  But  first  I  went  into  Allen's 
room,  and  the  minute  I  saw  him — the  minute  I  saw 
him! " 

Her  voice  deepened  upon  a  note  of  terror;  she  was 
still 

"He  was  gone?"  Stephen  said,  sympathy  in  his  eyes. 

"No,  not  quite — not  quite/'  She  took  up  the  story 
bravely.  "He  was  breathing,  but  his  hands  were  cold! 
I  called  Hannah — he  had  never  been  like  that!  We 
got  hot  water — we  couldn't  make  him  drink  it — 
nothing — we  could  do  nothing!  Bertha  telephoned 
for  Doctor  Gedney — he  couldn't  come.  So  then 
we  called  the  Emergency  Hospital — Hannah  suggested 
that — I  thought  we  might  move  him  there.  But  it 
was  too  late!  While  we  were  talking,  it  was  all  over. 
He  just  sighed — that  was  all!  That  was  all.  He  has 
always  said — always  hoped — it  would  be  like  that — • 
poor  Allen!  Poor  Allen! 

"At  the  hospital,"  she  added,  after  a  moment,  "they 
told  me  that  it  was  a  case  for  the  coroner.  The  c^ro- 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  85 

ner!"  she  echoed,  troubled  eyes  upon  Stephen.  "Mr. 
Winship,  why  did  they  say  that  they  would  send  the 
coroner  ? " 

Stephen,  feeling  a  secret  relief  that  Reilly  had  been 
notified,  explained  quietly  the  nature  of  the  coroner's 
office,  but  this  did  not  alter  the  doubtful,  almost  an- 
tagonized look  in  her  eyes. 

"But  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  a  coroner  coming  here!" 
she  said,  simply.  "Will  you  explain  to  him  exactly 
how  it  happened,  and  get  rid  of  him  as  quickly  as 
you  can?" 

Stephen,  glancing  at  Fred,  said  nothing.  But  she 
had  turned  from  him,  to  take  two  of  the  small  boxes 
from  Kelly's  pharmacy  from  the  table. 

"These  are  the  boxes — identical,"  she  said.  "The 
covers  are  interchangeable — do  you  see?  The  pow- 
ders look  the  same.  They  were  on  the  shelf  together." 

"Mrs.  Lombard,"  said  Stephen,  gravely,  "to  keep 
them  so  was  surely  a  great  mistake!" 

"Oh,  it  was — it  was!"  she  agreed.  "I  don't  know 
why  I  never  thought  of  that!" 

Her  simplicity  somewhat  disarmed  him,  but  he 
gave  no  sign  of  softening. 

"You  had  no  doctor?" 

"Not  since  February!" 

"Could  Mr.  Lombard  possibly  have  changed  those 
covers  himself?" 

"Not  without  excruciating  pain,"  she  answered, 
shaking  her  head. 

"Did  the  maids  ever  touch  the  medicine?"  Stephen 
pursued. 

"Oh,  never!"  He  liked  the  quick,  uncalculating 
way  in  which,  she  answered  with  the  truth. 


86  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Mr.  Lombard  was  entirely  helpless?" 

"No-o,  not  quite.  He  could  just  drag  himself  a 
little — you  know,  I  told  you,  Fred,"  said  Mrs.  Lom- 
bard, turning  her  deep,  shining  eyes  upon  the  younger 
man,  "that  he  did  get  his  revolver,  two  weeks  ago — 
how,  we  have  no  idea.  I  had  to  take  it  away,  and 
this  time  I  sold  it,  rather  than  have  it  about!" 

"He  was  depressed,  then?"  Stephen  continued,  al- 
most eagerly. 

"Oh,  very.  He  was  terrible — to  Bertha  and  Hannah. 
In  fact — "  She  paused,  searching  obviously  for  an 
exact  word — "  in  fact,  this  week  has  been  exceptionally 
bad,"  she  finished,  quietly.  "There  are  the  boxes,  if 
you  want  them,"  she  added,  rising,  "I  think  I  will  go 
upstairs,  and  dress.  But  I  will  be  ready  before  the 
coroner  comes — just  in  case  he  wants  to  see  me,  too." 

And  with  no  other  word,  and  without  noise  or  stir 
of  any  description,  she  went  from  the  room,  and  left 
the  brothers  standing  together  by  the  fire. 

Stephen  moved  irresolutely,  looked  at  the  closed 
door,  and  then  with  an  odd  look  resumed  his  chair, 
and  settled  himself  quietly.  Fred,  after  a  somewhat 
puzzled  stare  at  him,  followed  his  example. 

Except  for  the  fire,  and  the  clocks  striking  midnight, 
there  was  a  long  silence  in  the  room.  Stephen  turned 
the  page  of  a  book  he  had  picked  up  idly,  glanced  about 
at  the  homelike  clutter  of  handsome  and  cheap  fur- 
nishings, the  photographs  and  the  flowers.  There  was 
no  sound  in  the  house,  none  in  the  old  square. 

When  Reilly,  the  coroner,  rang,  Fred  admitted 
him,  and  the  three  men  murmured  in  low  tones  to- 
gether. 

"It  looks  to  me  like  a  clear  case  of  over-dosing, 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  87 

Frank,"  Stephen  presently  told  the  alert-faced,  rosy 
little  man,  tranquilly.  "We  know  that  Mr.  Lombard 
was  depressed  almost  to  melancholia — poor  fellow; 
it  was  incurable,  you  know." 

"Can  you  blame  him?"  the  coroner  said,  sympathet- 
ically, with  a  glance  toward  the  closed  door  that  con- 
cealed, as  he  had  instantly  known,  the  chamber  of 
death. 

"He  had  a  strong  medicine — Gedney's  prescription, 
although  he  had  dismissed  Gedney,"  Stephen  ex- 
plained, "and  we  don't  know — we  don't  know  that  he 
didn't  manage  to  change  these  box  covers — see  here!" 

"I  see,"  the  coroner  said,  with  a  faint,  significant 
stress  upon  the  first  word,  as  he  studied  the  labelled 
cardboard.  "Sure,  why  wouldn't  he?"  he  added, 
confidentially.  "Old  man,  wasn't  he?  How  does  the 
wife  take  it?  No  need  to  give  anything  out  to  the 
press  boys,"  finished  Mr.  Reilly,  briskly,  "bad  enough 
for  her  without  that!  Heart  failure — hey?  My  wife's 
mother  went  off  with  rheumatism — just  like  that! 
Suppose  we  step  in  there,  Steve?" 

"Sorry  the  Emergency  got  you  up,"  Stephen  said. 

"Oh,  the  boys  and  I  were  sitting  in  an  all-night 
poker  session,  anyway,"  admitted  Mr.  Reilly,  with  a 
grin.  "You  know  these  people,  don't  you,  Steve? 
She's  a  friend  of  yours,  isn't  she?" 

"Oh,  certainly!"  Stephen  said,  assuredly.  "My 
aunt's  extremely  fond  of  her,  and  so  is  Miss  Warren." 

"All  O.K.,"  the  coroner  murmured,  satisfied,  noise- 
lessly opening  the  bedroom  door. 

He  and  Stephen  were  gone  for  only  a  few  minutes, 
but  Mrs.  Lombard,  quietly  dressed  in  unrelieved 
black,  was  standing  with  Fred  by  the  mantel  when 


88  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

they  came  back.  She  looked  at  Stephen  and  the 
coroner  with  an  expression  of  sober  expectation,  but 
without — Stephen  saw — a  trace  of  real  anxiety  or  fear. 

Reilly  returned  her  look  with  frank  curiosity  and 
sympathy. 

"This  is  too  bad/'  he  said,  somewhat  clumsily.  "Mr. 
Winship  here  has  been  telling  me  about  the  case — 
nervous,  depressed,  suffering  a  good  deal,  and  all 
that.  It  looks  to  me  like  heart  failure,  maybe  the 
medicine  he  took  helped  it  along  a  little,  and  maybe 
it  didn't.  Anyway,  you  must  try  to  look  on  it  like  it 
was  a  relief  to  him,  and  you  are  the  one  that  has  to 
have  the  real  sympathy — it's  them  that's  left,  isn't 
that  right?  Every  time — that's  what  my  wife  says." 

"Thank  you!"  The  strange  eyes  were  looking 
straight  up  at  him,  and  were  brimming  with  slow  tears. 

"So  I'll  be  going  along,"  said  Reilly,  shaking  her 
hand  heartily,  after  a  moment's  somewhat  confused 
pause. 

"And  I  will,  too,"  Stephen  added.  And  to  Mrs. 
Lombard  he  said,  with  an  air  of  friendliness  and  inti- 
macy, "Fred  will  look  out  for  everything  for  you,  and 
Mimi  and  Aunt  Bessy  will  probably  be  here  in  the 
morning!  And  of  course  don't  hesitate  to  call  me  if 
there  is  anything  in  the  world  that  I  can  do!" 

"Thank  you!"  she  said,  simply,  again.  "Give 
Mimi  my  love!" 

And  before  he  left  the  room,  she  had  turned  away 
and  was  murmuring  to  Fred  about  some  grim  detail 
of  the  immediate  need.  The  usual  dreadful  questions 
were  to  be  settled;  Stephen  and  the  coroner  were  free 
to  let  themselves  out  into  the  sweet  warm  night  to- 
gether. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  89 

A  soft  high  breeze  was  moving  steadily  in  the  dark; 
heavy  with  the  breath  of  growing  things,  fresh  earth 
and  new  grass  and  quickening  boughs.  The  maples 
in  Kingsgreen  Square  were  unfolding  little  damp  tight 
leaves,  branches  were  clicking  against  each  other 
softly  and  mysteriously;  even  in  the  blackness  there 
was  a  knowledge  abroad  of  tulips  and  lilacs,  a  new  soft- 
ness and  freedom  everywhere.  Girls*  voices  laughed 
out  from  some  invisible  park  bench,  some  of  the 
doorways  of  the  old  brick  houses  were  open,  sil- 
houetted figures  moved  against  lighted,  shabby  hall- 
ways, and  shadowy  forms  upon  shadowy  steps  bore 
testimony  to  the  coming  of  spring. 

Stephen  declined  Reilly's  offer  of  a  lift,  he  would 
leave  his  car  for  Fred — there  might  be  need  of  it 
before  morning.  He  wanted  to  walk — to  breathe  in 
the  balmy  fresh  air,  and  to  think. 

Suddenly  he  laughed,  half-aloud.  He  had  certainly 
taken  a  good  deal  for  granted,  regarding  this  cool, 
imperious,  troubled  woman!  He  really  knew  nothing 
about  her,  despite  his  quick  assumption  of  friendliness, 
before  Reilly. 

"  For  all  I  know — or  Fred  knows "  he  mused.  She 

was  the  adventuress  type,  of  course,  glittering  eyes, 
glittering  hair,  red  mouth.  The  titled  husband — the 
reputedly  famous  beautiful  pearls — the  mixed  medicine 
boxes — "However,  she  is  a  lady,  that's  perfectly  clear," 
Stephen  decided,  quickening  the  steps  that  had  halted 
for  a  few  seconds,  while  he  doubted  and  wondered. 

Yet  he  had  not  quite  liked  her  ready  acceptance 
of  his  little  deception  of  Reilly;  her  "love  to  Mimi" 
offended  him  vaguely.  Her  whole  manner  was  almost 
too  easy  and  quiet,  the  extraordinary  circumstances 


90  LUCRETTA  LOMBARD 

considered.  She  had  been  strangely  familiar  with 
expediency  in  this  sudden  catastrophe. 

"Mr.  Winship,  why  did  they  say  that  they  would 
send  the  coroner?" 

Her  tones  came  back  to  him  so  clearly  that  he 
almost  felt  as  if  they  had  sounded  upon  the  silence  of 
the  deserted  streets.  He  remembered  her  distressed 
almost  resentful  tone,  the  wide-open  amber  eyes. 

It  was  a  wonderful  night,  humming  and  throbbing 
with  spring.  Stephen  felt  his  pulses  racing  like  a  boy's 
— it  seemed  good  to  him  to  be  able  to  help  a  gentle- 
woman like  Mrs.  Lombard  over  this  difficult  bit  of 
road.  He  meditated  over  another  call  upon  her  to- 
morrow; she  had  shown  no  extreme  gratitude  or 
warmth  to-night,  to  be  sure,  but  even  in  that  was  there 
not  another  proof  of  her  clear  conscience  in  the  whole 
affair?  No  fawning,  no  policy,  nothing  but  the  simple, 
untouched  truth. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  her!"  he  said  to 
himself,  reluctantly  mounting  his  own  steps.  The 
night  seemed  too  warm,  too  fragrant,  too  palpitating 
with  beauty  and  promise,  to  leave. 

Late  the  next  afternoon  he  drove  Mimi  to  the 
rectory,  and  they  made  a  correctly  brief  and  sym- 
pathetic call.  Fred  was  already  there,  everything 
seemed  serene  and  smoothly  ordered. 

Mrs.  Lombard's  face  was  colorless  except  for  the 
young  crimson  of  her  mouth.  Her  extraordinary 
voice  was  poised  and  steady,  and  the  amber  eyes  had 
strange  glints  and  sparkles  in  them  as  she  stood,  a 
slender  figure  in  fresh,  simple  black,  beside  the  mantel, 
looking  straight  up  into  Stephen's  face. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  91 

Suddenly  he  had  a  mad  desire  to  interest  her,  in 
some  way,  to  experiment  with  the  cadences  of  that 
rich  voice,  and  the  expressions  of  those  young,  yet 
infinitely  wise,  eyes. 

"  But  look  here,"  he  said,  in  the  kindly  authoritative 
and  detached  tone  he  used  with  Mimi,  "how  about 
yourself?  Have  you  had  anything  to  eat?" 

There  was  something  like  a  weary  smile  in  the  amber- 
brown  deeps  of  the  eyes,  almost  a  glimmer  under  the 
brown  lashes. 

"Oh,  thank  you!     But  I  don't  seem  to  feel 

"That's  nonsense!  The  surest  way  to  make  your- 
self ill!"  he  said,  at  home  in  his  familiar  role.  "You 
must  have  something  at  once,  of  course!  Bertha," 
he  added,  with  his  pleasant,  gray-eyed  smile  for  the 
maid,  "you  must  bring  Mrs.  Lombard— 

"Hannah  was  asking  didn't  she  want  any  soup?" 
the  maid  said,  submissively. 

"Truly,  Steve  is  right!"  Mimi  pleaded,  resting 
a  slender  hand  upon  his  big  coat  sleeve,  and  smiling 
encouragement  at  the  older  woman. 

"I  think  it  must  be  a  characteristic  of  his,"  Lucretia 
Lombard  said,  in  her  slow,  deep  tones.  "I  will! 
Truly  I  will!"  she  promised  them.  "But  you  must 
have  no  concern  for  me,"  she  told  Stephen,  "for  what 
I  really  dreaded — what  might  have  been  really  hard  and 
unspeakably  painful  for  me — you  spared  me,  last  night !" 

The  emotion  in  her  voice,  the  look  she  gave  him, 
as  she  quite  simply  laid  both  her  hands  upon  his  own, 
stirred  them  all.  Here  in  this  cluttered  room,  with 
winter  twilight  struggling  at  the  windows,  and  only  the 
fitful  light  of  the  sucking  coal  fire  indoors  to  combat  it, 
they  were  all  conscious  of  romance,  of  a  beauty  and  an 


92  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

atmosphere  unfamiliar  to  their  wholesome  and  normal 
lives. 

"  Steve,  you  were  so  wonderful ! "  Mimi  said,  affection- 
ately, driving  home  a  little  later  with  a  comfortable 
sense  of  neighborly  duty  rendered — the  sort  of  thing 
she  and  Steve  would  always  be  doing  for  the  less  for- 
tunate, she  told  herself. 

"Extraordinary!"  he  said,  under  his  breath,  and 
Mimi  laughed. 

"No,  I  didn't  say  she  was — I  said  you  were!" 

"Oh—!"  He  dismissed  it  with  a  half-shamed, 
half-amused  smile,  and  a  jerk  of  his  broad  shoulder. 
His  eyes  did  not  leave  the  street;  Stephen  was  a  careful 
driver. 

"But  do  you  think  she  is  extraordinary?"  Mimi 
pursued,  curiously,  after  thought. 

He  did  not  hear  her;  wras  thinking  of  a  case,  she 
decided.  And  Mimi  snuggled  herself  into  her  furs, 
on  the  front  seat  beside  him,  and  fell  into  pleasant 
anticipations  of  the  visit  to  the  cabin  on  Red  Pine 
Mountain,  planned  for  the  following  week-end.  She 
had  considerately  postponed  it,  because  of  Mrs.  Lom- 
bard's need  for  Fred,  and  she  glowed  with  the  knowledge 
that  her  life  must  be  affected,  from  now  on,  by  what 
concerned  Stephen  and  his  brother. 

They  were  getting  out  of  the  car,  at  the  side  entrance 
of  the  Curran  house,  ten  minutes  later,  when  Stephen 
absently  and  vaguely  answered  her: 

"Yes.     Of  course   I   do.     She  is    quite — amazing." 

Mimi  laughed  again,  fled  into  the  house,  dismissed 
the  matter  from  her  mind.  But  Stephen  lingered  in- 
explicably, only  half-conscious  of  what  he  did,  in  the 
garage,  loitered  upstairs,  mused  over  his  dressing. 


LUCRETIA  LOMi>.  93 

"I — don't  believe,"  he  said  to  himself,  standing 
with  his  black  evening  tie  in  his  hand,  and  looking 
at  the  Stephen  in  the  mirror  as  if  he  had  never  beheld 
himself  before,  "I  don't  believe  I  have  ever  seen  such 
a  woman!  She  is  not  like  any  one  I  ever  met!"  And 
with  a  smile  playing  over  his  firm  mouth,  he  murmured: 
"'I  think  it  must  be  a  characteristic  of  his! — You 
spared  me,  last  night'!" 

With  what  a  superb  directness  she  had  said  these 
things;  no  stammering  or  flushing!  And  with  what 
poise  she  had  agreed  to  have  some  tea;  there  was  a 
refreshing  absence  of  the  inconsolable  and  dramatic 
attitude. 

Golden  eyes — golden  hair — creamy  gold  skin,  and 
a  voice  of  pure  gold! 

He  wondered  if  it  would  give  her  the  slightest  com- 
fort to  have  him  attend  the  quiet  little  funeral  service 
next  day.  Fred  would  be  there,  of  course,  and  possibly 
the  British  consul  and  his  wife,  from  New  York;  no 
one  else.  Suddenly  Stephen  felt  that  he  must  be  there, 
too.  And  at  the  thought  of  her,  veiled  and  robed  in 
black,  sustaining  the  dismal  demand  of  this  dark  hour 
with  her  own  wonderful  gravity  and  dignity,  his  heart 
stirred  strangely. 


CHAPTER  X 

"MARJORIE!"  Mimi  said,  suddenly,  out  of  a  peaceful 
silence. 

Miss  Rutger,  buttering  a  muffin,  eyed  her  expect- 
antly. The  mountain  visit  had  ended  a  fortnight 
earlier,  but  there  had  been  a  dance  the  night  before, 
and  the  girls  had  come  home  weary  and  happy,  to 
sleep  together  at  the  Curran  mansion,  and  waken  late 
in  a  still,  warm  May  morning.  Nancy,  Mrs.  Curran's 
square,  motherly,  middle-aged  maid,  had  brought  them 
up  a  luxurious  tray,  and  they  were  sharing  it  in  the 
pleasant  south  window.  The  soft  morning  air  poured 
over  Mimi's  window-sills,  and  reflected  light  from  the 
new  green  of  the  motionless  maple  boughs  gave  a  pleas- 
ant summery  gleam  and  glint  to  Mimi's  gay  chintzes 
and  wicker  chairs. 

Outside,  in  mid-morning,  the  atmosphere  was  sum- 
mery, too.  The  chickens,  up  the  Judge's  old-fashioned 
side  lane,  were  fluffing  in  the  dust,  with  serious  little 
undertoned  duckings;  the  rusty  old  bay  carriage  horses 
were  standing  at  the  bars,  Toby's  nose  against  Dandy's 
cheek,  long  tails  swishing  now  and  then  at  the  season's 
first  flies.  Over  this  quiet,  residential  part  of  town  the 
plumy  tops  of  trees  rose  against  a  deep  blue  sky,  and 
homelike  glimpses  of  brick  walls  and  colonial  dormers 
showed  through  the  steadily  thickening  foliage.  Now 
and  then  a  motor  spun  down  the  wide  street,  and  the 

94 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  95 

breakfasting  girls  could  hear  the  mellow  note  of  its 
horn  as  it  turned  into  Washington  Street. 

Two  children  chipped  by,  talking  clearly;  the  screen 
door  of  the  kitchen  banged,  and  Emma's  laugh  was 
heard,  over  Bobby  the  chauffeur's  deep  voice. 

"Marge,"  said  Mimi,  pushing  her  basket  chair  back 
from  the  table,  and  tossing  her  crumpled  napkin  on 
top  of  the  litter  of  dishes,  "you've  known  Steve  Win- 
ship  all  your  life — now,  tell  me — there's  something  I'm 
awfully  worried " 

She  halted,  choked.  Marjorie  regarded  her  with  a 
mixture  of  amusement  and  scorn. 

"For  Heaven's  sake ?"  she  began,  amazedly. 

"No,  I  know!"  Mimi  said,  hastily,  regaining  self- 
control.  "But  this  is  what  I  meant.  Now,  you  know 
the  house  out  in  Keystone  Road — we  couldn't  live  in 
that  old  West  Maryland  Avenue  house,  with  one  bath- 
room for  nine  bedrooms!" 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about!"  Mar- 
jorie said,  frankly. 

"Well,  you  know  I  bought  that"  Key  stone  Road 
house?" 

"Well,  certainly.     Doesn't  he  like  it?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Mimi,  dubiously.     "I  think  he  does!" 

"Why,  he  seemed  perfectly  delighted  about  it,  to 
me!"  Marjorie  said. 

"Oh,  did  he,  Marge?"  Mimi  asked,  eagerly.  "Tell 
me  what  he  said!" 

"You  heard  what  he  said — when  we  were  all  at 
Belle's." 

"I  remember."  Mimi's  tone  had  fallen  some- 
what flat.  "It  didn't  seem  to  me  that  he  was  very 
enthusiastic,"  she  added,  in  a  sorrowful  tone. 


96  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"I  don't  know  what  he  wants"  observed  Marjorie. 
"There  isn't  anything  handsomer  or  lovelier  in  town 
than  those  houses " 

"No,"  Mimi  said,  in  the  same  tone.     "It  isn't  that." 

"Do  you  mean  that  he'd  rather  fix  up  the  old  West 
Maryland  place,  Mimi?  You  could  stick  in  a  few 
bathrooms,  you  know.  And  of  course  the  trees  are 
older!  But  that's  yours,  too,  as  far  as  that  goes!" 
reasoned  Marjorie. 

"Well,  that's  just  it!"  Mimi,  looking  rosy  and 
earnest,  and  charmingly  dishevelled  under  her  tumbled 
dark  hair,  threw  herself  back  in  her  cushions,  and  linked 
her  hands  behind  her  head.  The  ribboned  laces  of  her 
loose,  lacy  transparent  morning  robe  fell  back  from 
her  bare  ankles  and  slippered  feet. 

Marjorie,  now  perceiving  the  delicate  nature  of  this 
affair,  was  a  little  flushed,  too,  as  she  looked  seriously 
at  her  friend. 

"You  mean  that  Stephen  doesn't  like  the  idea  of 
your  being  rich?"  she  asked  slowly. 

"I'm  not  rich!"  Mimi  protested,  with  an  uncom- 
fortable little  laugh.  "There  was  a  balance  there, 
when  I  was  twenty-one,  nearly  two  years  ago.  And 
I  had  always  said  to  Uncle  Sam  that  some  day  I  would 
buy  a  home  with  it!" 

"Did  Steve  say  anything  that  made  you  think  he 
—he  didn't  like  it?"  Marjorie  pursued. 

"No — o.  But  he  looked  a  little — firm,"  Mirni  con- 
fessed. 

"Oh,  Mimi,  you  imagine  it!" 

Marjorie  rose,  tossed  her  own  napkin  upon  the 
breakfast  tray,  and  began  to  saunter  superbly  about  the 
room,  extremely  conscious  of  the  wonderfully  draped 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  97 

Indian  wrap  that  she  had  wound  skillfully  about  her 
silk  night-gown.  As  she  passed  Mimi,  she  gave  the 
top  of  her  head  a  reassuring  pat. 

"My  dear,  you'll  have  a  beautiful  home,"  said 
Marjorie,  firmly,  "and  if  Stephen  Winship  doesn't 
realize  now  how  lucky  he  is,  he  will  some  day!  Father 
says  that  there's  nothing  to  prevent  him  going  straight 
on  in  politics;  he  says  Stephen  is  right  in  line  for  Sena- 
tor— he  did  say  so!  And  this  man  I  was  telling  you 
about — a  perfectly  fascinating  man — a  Californian, 
but  he's  lived  in  New  York  for  years,  and  he's  been 
everywhere " 

Marjorie's  friends  were  all  of  this  distinguished 
type,  and  Mimi  did  not  listen.  Her  eyes  were  troubled, 
and  in  her  heart  she  was  suffering  the  pain  of  the  first 
real  check  her  gaiety  and  confidence  had  ever  known. 

Steve  valued  money,  but  he  valued  other  things 
more.  He  had  worked  hard  for  his  own  prosperity, 
he  knew  the  value  of  every  dollar  that  had  gone  to 
pay  his  father's  debts,  to  help  educate  Fred,  to  make 
Winship  and  Winship  what  it  was,  one  of  the  trusted 
younger  firms  of  the  city.  Stephen  had  refused  his 
uncle's  help,  at  sixteen,  had  studied  and  struggled 
tirelessly  and  successfully  to  bring  order  and  profit 
'  out  of  his  father's  tangled  affairs,  had  divided  his 
college  years  with  hard  sessions  of  responsibility  and 
,  legal  investigation. 

Mimi's  face  flushed  with  shame,  and  she  saw  ex- 
actly what  her  airy  purchase  of  the  too-handsome 
wedding  present  might  seem  to  him.  It  was  insuffer- 
able to  her  that  she  had  been  so  stupid  and  so  impulsive, 
and  generously  and  quite  as  impulsively,  too,  she  began 
to  rack  her  brain  for  the  right  amends. 


08  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

She  and  Marjorie  had  planned  the  inspection  of  a 
certain  set  of  Pembroke  dining-room  furniture  to-day, 
but  Mimi  was  listless  and  absentminded,  in  the  reedy, 
odorous  dimness  of  the  big  furniture  store,  would 
come  to  no  decision,  and  left  Marjorie  early  in  the 
afternoon,  with  a  plea  of  faint  headache  and  spring 
languor. 

She  would  sell  the  hateful  house,  she  told  her- 
self, driving  rapidly  homeward,  and  she  would  never 
say  "house"  again  until  Stephen  had  found  something 
that  he  was  wild  about,  something  that  they — not  she 
—could  afford.  And  that — Mimi  felt  tears  behind 
her  eyes — that  might  put  their  wedding  off  indefinitely! 

Her  heart  rose  with  a  great  spring  of  joy  and  re- 
assurance when  she  saw  the  rough  tweed  overcoat  in 
the  hall,  and  heard  his  voice  in  the  dining-room.  Mrs. 
Curran  was  loitering  over  a  late  lunch,  Stephen  had 
evidently  just  come  in,  and  as  they  sat  down,  he  an- 
nounced that  he  must  immediately  go  off  again. 

"I've  got  to  go  out  the  Hadley  road,  to  see  a  man," 
he  said,  his  big  warm  hand  still  over  Mimi's,  who  was 
beside  him,  "and  then  Uncle  Sam  wants  me  to  see 
Lejeal — that's  the  old  second-hand  book-man,  down 
Kingsgreen  way.  Lejeal  wants  a  room  on  the  first 
floor  there,  for  his  overflow  stock,  and  Fm  going  over 
some  old  trunks  and  stuff  of  my  father's — stored  in 
there.  I  don't  think  that  there's  anything  wo'rth 
shipping  to  the  Keystone  Road  house,"  he  added,  with 
a  smile  for  Mimi.  "  Nothing  'period' — nothing  'colonial* 
— ronly  some  walnut  chairs  and  a  bureau,  and  the 
boxes." 

She  did  not  brighten,  the  sweetness  of  his  attitude 
toward  the  new  home  choked  her,  and  she  looked  down 


LUCBETIA  LOMBARD  99 

at  her  own  fingers,  held  in  his,  with  suddenly  suffused 
eyes. 

"Why,  look  here — look  here!"  he  said,  gently, 
exchanging  a  quick,  surprised  glance  with  Mrs.  Curran. 
"What's  the  trouble,  little  girl?" 

"Nothing!"  said  Mimi,  with  a  gulp.  And  with  a 
laugh,  half-angry  at  herself,  she  added  desperately, 
"Talk!" 

Stephen  and  his  aunt  immediately  began  to  talk  at 
random. 

"Steve,  will  you  leave  a  little  note  for  me  with  Mrs. 
Lombard  ?  I  thought  she  might  come  to  lunch  Friday. 
You  and  Mimi  will  be  at  the  club,  and  she  must  be 
frightfully  lonely!"  Mrs.  Curran  said,  hastily.  "Will 
she  stay  there,  do  you  suppose?  Wasn't  that  an  awful 
thing,  the  husband  dying — when  she  was  so  devoted, 
and  all?  I  asked  Fred  how  she  was  left,  and  he  said 
with  very  little — she  told  him  that  she  was  going  to 
let  one  of  the  servants  go — I  think  that  was  it!  But  he 
says  she  has  a  fortune  in  jewels, — pearls,  and  that  big 
diamond  she  wears." 

"She  seems  an  unusual  sort  of  person,"  Stephen 
observed. 

"Handsome,  I  think.  She  seems  quite  friendly  with 
Fred — I  tried  to  tease  him  about  her  a  little,  but  you 
know  what  a  funny  child  he  is  when  it  comes  to  anything 
serious !  I  don't  believe  Fred  will  ever  marry ! " 

"She  wouldn't  look  at  Fred,"  Stephen  said,  positively. 

"Wouldn't?"  Mimi  said,  animatedly,  looking  up 
with  slightly  reddened  eyes,  but  with  perfect  self- 
control. 

"Well,  do  you  think  so?"  Stephen  asked,  more 
moderately. 


100  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 


"Fred  says,"  Mrs.  Curran  contributed,  suddenly, 
"that  she  pays  only  sixteen  dollars  for  that  house — 
imagine  that  I" 

"Oh,  help!"  Mimi  said,  faintly,  with  her  thoughts 
upon  the  colonial  house  in  Keystone  Road.  "I  was 
thinking  of  the  prices  of  some  of  the  things  Marjorie 
and  I  were  looking  at,  to-day,"  she  smiled. 

Stephen  smiled  back,  encouragingly. 

"And  what  did  you  see  that  you  liked?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  adore  you  when  you  are  so  sweet  and  generous, 
and  when  I  am  such  a  spoiled  brat!"  Mimi  said,  but 
not  aloud.  Aloud  she  said,  as  his  aunt  vanished  in 
the  direction  of  the  kitchen,  leaving  them  alone: 

"Steve,  you  feel  happy  about  the  new  house,  don't 
you?" 

"Why,  what  do  you  think  I  wanted — the  city  hall?" 
he  asked,  bringing  his  chair  a  little  nearer  her  own. 

"But  you  will  like  it,"  coaxed  Mimi,  "when  the  old 
rugs  go  in,  and  the  chintzes — I  thought  just  plain 
net  curtains,  Steve?  And  the  four  oil  portraits  in 

the  library.  And  severe "  she  added,  making  her 

own  pretty  mouth  severe  and  widening  her  eyes 
childishly. 

Stephen  was  close  enough  to  give  her  an  unexpected 
quick  kiss  between  the  appealing  eyes. 

"You're  very  cunning  about  your  new  house!" 
he  said.  "And  here  I  am,  loafing,"  he  added,  jumping 
to  his  feet,  "at  almost  three  o'clock!  What  do  we  do 
to-night — the  Jenkins?" 

"Grace  will  come  here  and  go  with  us,  and  be  early, 
won't  you?  For  it's  Margaret  Anglin  afterward. 
Steve,"  Mimi  followed  him  into  the  hall,  "have  you 
a  minute  to-day  to  see  that  Pembroke  set?" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  T01 

"If  you  like.it "  he  began,  eloquently.  But  as  she 

came  close  to  him  and  laid  one  hand  lightly  on  the  over- 
coat that  he  was  buttoning,  her  face  was  clouded 
and  she  did  not  raise  her  eyes.  "I  may  be  a  little 
late/'  he  said,  dimly  conscious  of  her  mood,  "where 
is  this  set?" 

"Oh,  never  mind!"  Mimi  said,  lightly. 

When  he  was  gone  she  stood  looking  vaguely  at  the 
closed  front  door;  after  a  few  moments  she  went  slowly 
upstairs  to  her  room.  It  was  the  most  hateful  hour 
of  an  untimely  warm  spring  day.  Everything  was 
glaring  and  glittering,  thought  Mimi  fretfully;  she  was 
nervous  and  excited,  and  it  was  too  early  to  make  any 
plans  for  tea  or  calls. 

"I'm  not  tired!"  she  said,  resentfully,  throwing  her- 
self down  in  the  steamer  chair,  where  the  bright  day 
had  begun  so  happily  a  few  hours  ago.  Again  she 
locked  her  hands  behind  her  head,  staring  absently  at 
the  brilliant  pair  of  china  ho-birds  that  were  an  en- 
gagement present  from  California,  and  that  she  had 
thought  would  be  so  wonderful  on  the  white  mantel 
of  the  new  house ! 

The  new  house.  The  thought  of  it  brought  her  mind 
instantly  to  Stephen,  and  tears  of  bewilderment  and 
disappointment  came  to  her  eyes.  Why  wasn't  he 
more  interested  in  it?  Didn't  most  men  love  to  fuss 
and  shop  over  chairs  and  tables,  colonial  mirrors  and 
Chinese  teak-wood  ? 

Finding  the  house,  she  had  had  a  vision  of  Stephen 
and  herself  delighting  in  its  furnishing.  She  had  seen 
them  loitering  through  shops,  excited  over  an  antique 
bureau  or  a  Bokhara  prayer  rug. 

And  suddenly  Mimi  began   to  cry,  got  to  her  feet. 


•  102  LXJCRETIA  LOMBARD 

stumbled  blindly  to  the  door  and  locked  it,  stumbled 
back  to  bed,  and  cast  herself  among  the  pillows  big 
and  little,  pressing  the  babyish  silk  and  embroidery 
to  her  streaming  eyes,  whimpering  a  little  audibly  some- 
times, and  at  others  nervously  conscious  that  if  Aunt 
Bessy  heard  the  least  suspicion  of  a  sound,  she  would 
be  frantic  with  concern  and  curiosity. 

At  half-past  four  Grace  and  Suzanne  came  in,  to 
carry  Mimi  to  the  Country  Club,  and  Mimi,  just 
brushing  her  hair,  was  pale,  quiet,  interesting.  The 
girls  asked  no  questions,  but  the  little  hint  of  trouble 
cast  a  new  glamour  over  Mimi,  which  she  appreciated 
in  spite  of  herself.  She  had  decided  by  this  time  that 
it  was  just  Steve's  adorable  big  lovely  way,  he  was 
far  too  deep  in  his  work  and  his  responsibilities  to  worry 
about  eighteenth-century  veneering!  As  for  herself 
she  was  an  "idiot,"  and  if  she  wasn't  extremely  care- 
ful she  would  be  one  of  these  jealous,  exacting  wives 
who  made  life  a  burden  for  themselves  and  everyone 
else! 

Refreshed  by  the  storm,  and  rapidly  regaining  her 
bright  color,  she  chattered  and  drank  tea  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  group  at  the  Country  Club,  and  decided 
to  take,  from  that  time  forward,  a  more  rational  tone 
with  Stephen,  and  show  him  how  sensibly  and  frankly 
she  could  appreciate  his  indifference  to  the  lesser  points 
of  householding. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  cloud  on  Stephen's  own  spirit,  although  she 
did  not  suspect  it,  was  far  darker  than  that  on  Mimi's 
own.  He  hardly  realized  himself  exactly  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  half-hurt  and  half-resentful  feeling  of 
which  he  was  conscious  now  and  then,  when  the  material 
aspect  of  his  engagement  to  Mimi  was  considered. 

Mimi  was  rich,  but  not  rich  enough  to  tempt  a 
rising  young  politician  of  Stephen's  calibre  to  any- 
thing like  fortune-hunting.  Mimi  had  always  quite 
frankly  trusted  and  admired  and  loved  him,  but  for 
years  that  had  not  been  enough.  It  was  not  until  a 
new  feeling  for  her  had  stirred  him,  not  until  his  pro- 
tective, brotherly  feeling  had  been  blotted  out  by  that 
sudden  impulse  of  devotion  to  her,  and  of  need  of  her, 
that  he  had  put  his  arm  about  her,  and  asked  her  what 
the  world  usually  thought  of  the  guardian  who  carried 
off  the  heiress? 

And  then  the  storm  of  congratulations  had  begun; 
everyone  was  so  delighted — too  thoroughly  delighted, 
in  several  instances,  to  be  quite  considerate  of  the  pros- 
pective groom's  point  of  view.  Aunt  Bessy  had  said 
that  now,  thank  God,  nobody  could  marry  the  child 
for  her  money.  Uncle  Sam  had  prophesied  that  there 
was  nothing  to  keep  the  boy  out  of  the  Senate  now 
if  he  wanted  to  go  to  Washington!  His  own  record, 
exulted  the  old  man,  his  political  backing,  and  now  his 
wife's  money! 

103  » 


104  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

And  Mimi  had  bought  the  Keystone  Road  house- 
Driving  out  toward  Hadley,  Stephen  mused  upon 
these  things,  with  a  rather  cynical  smile — a  smile 
that  Mimi  had  never  seen  there,  on  his  fine  grave  face. 
If  the  girl  had  been  vaguely  disappointed  in  her  ideal 
of  engagement  days,  perhaps  he  was  a  little  disap- 
pointed, too.  This  might  have  been  the  time  of  so 
much  earnest  and  anxious  and  happy  planning,  he 
thought — they  might  have  solved  together  the  prob- 
lems of  what  rent,  what  service,  what  entertaining, 
they  might  afford.  On  his  own  modest  income  they 
might  have  taken  a  small  apartment,  Mimi  would  have 
had  to  do  her  own  housekeeping,  or  a  great  part  of  it 
for  awhile.  A  good  case  for  Winship  and  Winship 
would  have  been  cause  for  rejoicing;  they  would  have 
gone  together  to  get  the  new  kitchen  table,  or  the  six 
Canton  plates. 

But  now ! 

He  rallied  his  common  sense  as  resolutely  as  Mimi 
had  done;  after  all,  this  was  utter  absurdity.  Mimi, 
as  heiresses  went,  was  sweetness  and  unspoiledness  it- 
self, and  she  grew  sweeter  and  more  reasonable  every 
day.  Struggling  with  all  sorts  of  financial  tangles, 
ten  years  ago,  would  the  old  Stephen  have  recognized 
this  exacting  gentleman,  rising  in  his  profession,  com- 
manding a  fair-sized  income,  driving  his  own  car,  and 
betrothed  to  the  finest  girl  of  his  acquaintance,  who 
also  happened  to  have  wealth  to  bring  him? 

Stephen  laughed.  But  there  was  a  little  senti- 
mental, simple  streak  deep  in  his  soul,  nevertheless, 
and  this  simple  and  sentimental  Stephen  would  have 
liked  to  be  giving  more,  and  taking  less,  now,  less  envied 
by  the  world,  but  prouder  in  his  own  heart.  The 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  105 

deep  sweetness  of  the  May  woods,  the  hazy  softness 
of  the  spring  afternoon,  roused  in  him  a  certain  ache 
of  longing,  and  a  sense — the  keenest  in  life — of  having 
missed  the  true  flavor  of  living,  of  having  been  cheated 
of  what  is  a  man's  richest  heritage  of  love  and  service 
and  labor  shared. 

Along  the  country  roads  bridal-wreath  and  acacia 
were  in  bloom;  maples  were  painting  tender  shadows 
again  across  the  rain-packed  brown  roads.  Every- 
where was  the  delicious  rustle  and  gleam  and  shine 
of  new  foliage.  Stephen,  his  errand  concluded,  was 
sorry  to  turn  back  toward  the  town,  whose  roofs  were 
shining  in  a  dim  haze  of  motionless  smoke,  with  here 
and  there  an  occasional  window  catching  a  gleam  of 
full  sunlight. 

He  crossed  the  Oldchurch  Street  bridge,  moved 
more  slowly  through  the  canyons  of  factory  town,  where 
trucks  were  backed  against  open  warehouse  doorways 
and  the  air  tainted  with  raw  coffee  and  oils  and  straw 
packing.  It  was  just  four  o'clock  when  he  stopped 
outside  of  Lejeal's  second-hand  book-shop,  and  looked 
about  for  the  old  man. 

In  the  pleasantest  hour  of  the  spring  afternoon  all 
the  square  was  alive.  Shawled  women  and  running 
babies  lined  the  park  benches,  rejoicing  in  warmth 
and  greenness,  and  in  the  balmily  lengthening  day. 
The  shining,  sinking  light  lay  tenderly  upon  the  bal- 
conied old  faded  brick  houses,  doves  circled  the  tower 
of  old  St.  Thomas',  and  walked  with  rapid  little  twist- 
ing motions  of  their  tiny  bodies,  where  oats  had  been 
spilled  near  the  curb. 

Stephen  looked   up   at  the  windows  of  his  grand 
father's    house;    there    was    a    little    cardboard    sign 


106  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Rooms,"  in  what  had  been  Madam  Curran's  beauti- 
ful bedroom.  The  French  windows  of  the  drawing- 
room — and  what  a  pleasant  room  it  had  been,  long  and 
plain,  and  rilled  with  a  New  England  captain's  sea- 
plunder  of  Chinese  chests  and  Spanish  fans! — were 
sealed  now,  and  he  could  see  the  raw,  chalked  back 
of  a  bureau  pushed  against  one  of  them.  On  the  top 
floor,  the  plain  small  casements  were  lined  with  stringy 
geraniums  and,  dry  vines  in  rusty  tin  cans. 

Outside  the  book-shop,  long  tables  filled  with  shabby 
books  were  ranged  in  the  brick  area;  mildewed  old 
books,  green  and  brown  and  faded  black,  topped  with 
inky  signs,  "Any  Book  Five  Cents,"  "Any  Book  Ten 
Cents — Two  For  Fifteen." 

A  woman  in  black  was  standing  by  one  of  these 
tables,  her  plain  hat,  with  a  narrow  rolled  brim,  smoth- 
ered in  a  thin,  transparent  mass  of  veiling,  her  slender 
white  hand  sharply  outlined  against  the  unrelieved 
blackness  of  her  plain  dress.  Mrs.  Lombard. 

She  was  turning  the  pages  of  an  enormous  old-fash- 
ioned book,  held  in  half-idle,  half-amused  absorption  by 
the  beaded  mantillas  and  fringed  shawls  and  tipped 
little  flat  hats;  she  looked  first  at  Stephen's  hand,  then 
up  at  his  face,  and  then  gave  him  her  own  hand,  with 
a  surprised  smile. 

Stephen  had  an  odd,  unmistakable  impression  that 
he  had  done  exactly  this  thing  before,  and  with  it  a 
quite  indefinable  sensation  of  lightness  and  joy.  The 
afternoon,  softly  descending  toward  twilight,  seemed 
suddenly  luminous  and  exquisite,  heavenly,  with  the 
opalescent  lights  that  are  not  of  land  or  sea,  that  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  dingy  books,  and  the  running 
and  shouting  children,  and  the  decayed  old  mansions, 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  107 

yet  that  embraced  and  enclosed  and  illuminated  all 
these,  and  all  life.  There  was  something  a  little 
weary,  a  little  drooping  and  relaxed,  about  this  end 
of  the  long,  warm,  untimely  day,  and  Stephen  was 
conscious  of  a  corresponding  languor  in  his  own  heart, 
a  creeping  sense  of  warmth,  and  the  pushing  of  green 
grasses,  and  the  drifting  odor  of  lilac. 

Her  voice — he  had  forgotten  its  extraordinary 
cadences.  He  gave  her  his  aunt's  note,  and  explained 
his  errand  in  Kingsgreen  Square. 

"Sure  enough,  this  was  your  grandfather's  home?" 
she  smiled.  "I  remember,  Fred — or  Mimi — told  me!" 

They  looked  up  at  the  windows:  Stephen  took  from 
her  the  heavy  books  she  was  carrying. 

"No,  you  mustn't  hold  those!"  she  said.  "I'll 
have  Monsieur  Lejeal  send  little  Francois  across  to 
the  rectory  with  them!  But  look  at  them  first — what 
a  treasure  I've  found!" 

There  were  six  of  them  piled  in  threes,  securely  tied 
several  times  about  with  strong  cord.  Stephen  read 
"Lives  of  the  Queens,"  in  dull  gold  upon  the  dark 
blue  backs.  Books  and  string  were  equally  dusty,  and 
gave  forth  an  acrid  stale  odor  of  must  and  decay. 
The  stout  tops  of  them  were  discolored  a  dark  brown 
and  the  cloth  was  crisp  and  splitting  with  age. 

"This  is  a  treasure,  eh?"  he  asked,  expectant  eyes 
on  her  face. 

"Oh,  rather! — I  don't  dare  open  it  here,  because— 
as  you  can  see! — they've  been  tied  up  for  ages.  I'll 
have  to  clean  them,  and  brush  them  up  a  bit.  But 
I  was  so  pleased  to  find  them!  I  was  puttering  about 
in  the  back  of  the  store,  putting  it  in  order,  really, 
for  old  M'sieu  Lejeal,  when  I  came  across  them,  jammed 


108  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

under  a  counter  for  dear  knows  how  long.  He  wanted 
to  present  them  to  me — I  don't  imagine  that  they 
have  any  real  market  value — but  I  wouldn't  let  him 
do  that.  So  I  set  a  price  of  three  dollars  upon  them, 
and  rang  it  up  in  the  cash  register  myself." 

"Three  dollars  apiece/'  Stephen  smiled,  with  an 
instant  relieved  thought  that  there  could  be  no  real 
financial  need  for  a  woman  who  could  spend  eighteen 
dollars  so  easily. 

"Oh,  dear — dear!"  she  said,  in  an  amused  under- 
tone, as  if  to  some  third  person,  "what  frightful 
standards  he  has!  No,  no — three  dollars  for  the  set!" 

Her  composure,  her  tone,  her  beauty,  and  the  fact 
that  she  wanted  these  presumably  dry  old  historical 
volumes,  reassured  him  pleasantly.  He  had  not  seen 
her  since  the  night  of  her  husband's  death  a  month 
ago,  and  in  the  meanwhile  Fred's  reports,  and  his  own 
thoughts,  had  often  brought  her  to  mind.  It  had 
been  an  odd  episode,  and  Stephen  had  more  than 
once  told  himself  that  theoretically  he  had  had  no 
right  to  vouch  so  high-handedly  for  this  unknown, 
beautiful,  mysterious  woman,  who  had  herself  admitted 
to  carelessness,  if  to  nothing  worse,  in  the  matter  of 
administering  a  dangerous  medicine. 

But  he  told  himself  now  that  this  was  a  gentlewoman, 
everything  about  her  inspired  confidence,  respect, 
admiration.  The  circumstances  of  her  husband's 
death  had  been  unfortunate,  in  their  implication  of 
youth  and  beauty  driven  desperate,  yet  here  she  stood 
using  her  long-jeopardized  freedom  for  no  more 
sinister  purpose  than  to  live  in  old  St.  Thomas'  rectory, 
and  buy  second-hand  histories  from  Lejeal. 

Before   they    could    more   than    greet   each    other, 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  109 

Lejeal  himself  came  out  from  his  dim,  book-cluttered 
lair;  he  was  delighted  with  the  landlord's  prompt 
appearance,  and  promised  that  the  junk  dealer  who 
was  to  buy  and  carry  off  the  old  furniture  would 
immediately  join  them.  Mrs.  Lombard  was  evidently 
a  great  favorite  with  the  old  Frenchman,  and  mur- 
mured to  him  in  his  own  tongue,  while  she  consigned 
the  precious  bundle  of  books  to  his  care. 

Solari,  the  junk  dealer,  descending  from  a  disreput- 
able wagon  drawn  by  an  almost  collapsed  dirty  white 
horse,  opportunely  arrived.  He  was  a  stout,  patched, 
jolly  old  man,  unshaven  and  bristly,  brilliant  smiles 
following  each  other  upon  his  oily  dark  face.  All 
four — for  Mrs.  Lombard  was  as  frankly  interested  as 
a  child — went  upstairs  together,  and  entered  together 
the  musty,  dusty,  darkened  old  room  where  moths 
and  decay  had  had  their  way  for  so  many  years.  At 
the  long  windows  shutters  had  been  closed,  and  tied 
with  strips  of  cloth,  and  odds  and  ends  of  sunburned 
paper  had  been  further  tacked  across  them,  to  exclude 
the  light. 

Stephen  jerked  these  down,  with  a  gingerly  finger 
and  thumb,  opened  the  French  windows,  and  let  in 
the  fresh  air.  The  sense  of  romance  and  adventure 
was  still  strong  upon  him.  Any  door  might  open  into 
fairyland  to-day,  Solari  and  his  dirty  horse  might 
turn  into  the  chariot  of  the  sun.  He  hardly  looked 
at  Mrs.  Lombard,  hardly  spoke  to  her,  but  there  was 
not  a  movement  nor  a  word  of  hers  that  escaped  him. 

The  streaming  light  revealed  furniture  piled  against 
the  walls,  just  the  commonplace  bureaus  and  chairs 
that  he  had  described  to  Mimi,  forlorn  and  dirty  and 
discolored,  their  scarred  and  unfinished  backs  ex- 


110  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

posed  to  view.  Nondescript  and  moth-eaten  draper- 
ies enveloped  some  of  them,  and  in  a  grooved  and 
shiny  old  wooden  kitchen  table  Mrs.  Lombard's  casual 
investigation  unearthed  a  worn  vegetable  knife  and 
one  rolling  nutmeg. 

She  stood  at  the  window,  looking  out,  while  the  men 
negotiated.  The  backyard  was  evidently  the  play- 
ground of  children  of  all  sizes;  there  were  dolls  and 
dishes  upon  a  soap-box,  in  the  shade  of  the  largest 
maple,  a  small  home-made  wagon  and  various  bottles 
indicated  a  dairy  industry  in  a  corner,  two  goats  were 
tethered  to  a  pole,  a  rickety  ladder,  rising  into  an  elm, 
ended  at  a  rickety  platform,  and  whatever  the  children 
of  poverty-stricken  Kingsgreen  Square  could  collect 
in  the  way  of  planks,  ropes,  wires,  wheels,  boxes,  chains, 
and  pulleys,  was  distributed  generally  about  the  place. 

But  the  soft  sunlight  was  shining  down  upon  this 
disorder  through  the  scarcely  unfolded  foliage  of  the 
trees,  and  at  the  backs  of  other  houses  all  about 
women  were  chatting  and  airing  babies  and  hanging 
out  clothes.  On  one  grassy  enclosure  a  delicate  old 
woman  was  sitting,  yellow-white  hair  strained  away 
from  a  waxen  scalp,  peaceful  bloodless  hands  folded 
together. 

"Isn't  it  pleasant?"  said  Mrs.  Lombard  to  Stephen 
at  her  shoulder. 

He  did  not  answer  immediately,  and  she  looked  up 
at  him  obliquely  in  surprise.  The  smile  on  his  face 
was  almost  one  of  confusion,  but  immediately  it  changed 
into  his  kindly,  familiar  look. 

"Nice  to  have  things  opening  up  again,"  he  said. 
"It  has  been  a  long  winter!" 
^In  her  turn  she  smiled  a  little  bewilderedly,  some 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  111 

flutter  of  her  own  senses  surprising  her.  She  said 
to  herself  that  Stephen  Winship  had  a  fashion  of 
making  one  feel  young — and  beloved — he  was  like 
some  affectionate,  proud  uncle  or  big  brother,  con- 
fident that  one  deserved,  from  all  the  world,  his  own 
generous  estimate.  He  made  her  feel  that  she  sig- 
nified something  in  life — that  she  meant  something  as 
a  human  being. 

The  business  with  Solari  concluded,  she  delighted 
the  old  foreigner  with  a  few  sentences  in  Italian. 

"I've  forgotten  half  of  it!"  she  smiled  to  Stephen. 
But  the  junk  dealer  would  not  permit  this.  The 
Signora  spoke  beautifully, — like  a  Roman  lady,  indeed. 

The  room  was  to  be  cleared,  Lejeal  should  have 
immediate  possession,  Solari  should  cart  away  every- 
thing but  the  little  trunk  of  letters. 

And  for  the  little  trunk  of  letters  Mr.  Winship  would 
ask  his  brother  to  send  at  once;  they  were  probably  of 
no  value  at  all,  but  there  might  be  something  worth 
saving  among  them.  Mr.  Winship  was  to  be  married 
and  some  day  would  take  the  trunk  to  his  own  home. 

Solari  beamed  his  satisfaction  with  these  arrange- 
ments; the  gentleman  was  to  be  married?  They  un- 
derstood that  he  was  congratulating  them  both. 

"Oh,  hear  him!"  Mrs.  Lombard  smiled,  amusedly, 
without  confusion.  She  set  him  right  maternally,  in 
Italian,  and  Stephen  thought  her  lack  of  any  self- 
consciousness  admirable.  No,  she  was  not  to  marry 
the  Signer.  No,  another  signorina,  bella,  ricca,  giovane. 
"I  think  he  is  actually  disappointed!"  she  finished,  to 
Stephen,  calmly.  "And  why  not  store  the  trunk  at  my 
house?"  she  suggested,  immediately.  "Then  you  can 
send  for  it  at  any  time!"  > 


CHAPTER  XII 

So  IT  was  arranged,  and  at  five  o'clock  Mrs.  Lombard 
and  Stephen  walked  across  the  square  together,  and 
went  up  to  the  familiar  sitting-room,  unchanged  except 
for  the  absence  of  the  big  chair.  Hannah,  soberly 
smiling  a  welcome  to  the  friend  in  need,  was  sent  for 
tea.  Mrs.  Lombard  went  into  the  bedroom,  returning 
without  her  hat,  and  with  her  magnificent  crown  of 
fair  hair  a  little  crushed,  and  curling  in  the  unruly  little 
ringlets  that  he  remembered,  on  her  soft  brown  fore- 
head. 

The  windows  were  all  open  to-day,  and  there  were 
jonquils  in  bowls,  and  the  odor  of  violets.  And 
whenever  he  smelled  violets  afterward,  Stephen  thought 
of  this  hour,  and  of  the  beginning  of  this  friendship. 

Yet  nothing  about  it  was  extraordinary;  a  quiet  call 
upon  a  woman  recently  widowed,  in  this  odd,  homely 
little  establishment.  Nothing  in  their  even  ripple  of 
conversation,  or  in  the  bent  bright  head  and  the  idle 
white  hands,  accounted  for  the  subtle  disquiet  that  ran 
in  his  veins. 

They  spoke  of  Mimi,  and  of  the  excitement  at  the 
Curran  house,  and  of  the  mountain  cabin,  which  Mrs. 
Lombard  hoped  some  day  to  see.  And  they  spoke 
of  Mimi's  father  and  mother,  and  of  Stephen's  own 
people — all  early  dead. 

She  told  him  her  plans;  she  would  be  obliged  to  stay 
on  for  a  while — a  year  at  least — until  Mr.  Lombard's 

112 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  113 

small  estate  was  settled.  Fred  was  attending  to  the 
matter  for  her;  there  was  a  good  deal  of  red  tape  to  be 
gone  through  with.  She  thought  to  remain  where 
she  was;  she  liked  Sanbridge,  liked  existence  in  the 
old  rectory  with  the  devoted  Hannah,  liked  the  pleas- 
ant, quiet  life  of  Kingsgreen  Square.  She  had  books 
and  her  Red  Cross  work,  and  just  the  few  friends  that 
she  needed;  she  wanted  the  peaceful  interval,  to  re- 
cover balance  and  to  restore  nerves. 

"The  care  of  an  invalid  must  have  made  your  life 
extremely  hard/*  Stephen  ventured. 

"Not  if  one  loved  the  invalid/'  she  answered,  simply. 
"If  Allen  had  been — what  I  thought  he  was,  years 
ago,  then  nothing — nothing! — would  have  been  too 
much,  nothing  enough!  But  long,  long  before  the 
rheumatism  began,  I  knew — and  I  think  he  knew — 
that  our  marriage  was  a  fatal  mistake  in  both  our 
lives." 

It  was  evenly  said,  in  her  liquid,  quiet  voice,  but  the 
frankness  of  it  shocked,  and  a  little  distressed,  Stephen. 
After  all,  the  man  had  died  less  than  a  month  ago! 

"I  had — for  years,  the  sensation  that  I  was  not 
living,  that  I  had  somehow  lost  touch  with  real  life," 
she  added,  after  an  untroubled  pause,  and  quite  as 
if  she  were  thinking  aloud.  Her  echo  of  his  own 
thoughts,  a  little  earlier  to-day,  quite  softened  him 
again.  "Now,  it  is  all  beginning  to  come  back/'  she 
said.  "Women  in  the  neighborhood — books — chil- 
dren— they  all  seem  to  me  what  they  did  when  I 
was  a  girl!" 

"It  is  rather  extraordinary  that  you  should  say 
that,"  Stephen  said,  when  the  thoughtful  voice  died 
away.  He  was  astonished  with  the  readiness — more, 


114  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

with  the  eagerness — he  felt  in  talking  to  her.  Every 
word  that  she  said  seemed  to  inspire  in  him  the  desire 
for  a  reply,  and  he  looked  at  the  clock  with  an  actual 
resentment  against  the  steady  passing  away  of  this 
unusually  pleasant  half-hour.  "It  is  extraordinary  that 
I  felt  that  same  thing,  to-day — perhaps  it's  just  the 
spring  coming  back.  But  when  I  was  standing  there 
in  front  of  old  Lejeal's  book-shop,  I  had  the  strangest 
feeling  of  having  done  it  all  before,  and  feeling  peaceful 
and  happy — like  a  boy — you  know.  Just  as  if  life  never 
could  be  hard  or  complicated  again!" 

"And  that  reminds  me!"  she  said,  suddenly. 
"My  darling  books!  Hannah,"  she  added,  to  the 
maid,  who  came  in  with  the  tray,  "will  you  take 
these  books,  and  wipe  them  off,  and  cut  the  string?" 

Hannah  gave  her  an  indulgent  glance.  Stephen 
was  quite  struck  with  the  brilliant,  affectionate  look 
Mrs.  Lombard  gave  the  bulky  woman  in  reply. 

"Hannah's  wonderful,"  she  said,  quietly  manipulat- 
ing cups  and  tea-pot,  when  the  maid  was  gone.  "She 
is  to  have  her  little  girl  here  with  her,  next  week. 
That  makes  it  much  pleasanter  for  her,  and — since 
I  am  all  alone,  it  is  no  hardship  for  me!" 

"I  think  that  is  awfully  kind  of  you,"  Stephen  said, 
finding  the  hot  tea  and  the  plain  brown  bread  and 
better  delicious. 

She  smiled  at  him  innocently,  contentedly,  over  her 
own  cup. 

"I  must  positively  disclaim  kindness,"  she  answered, 
with  a  little  pretty  deliberation  over  the  phrase, 
"for  this  means  economy.  Hannah  is  paying  eight 
dollars  board  a  week,  for  her  child.  Some  of  that 
comes  off  her  wage." 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  115 

"And  you  must  think  of  economy?"  he  asked,  a 
little  clumsily. 

"I  must  live,"  she  was  quite  simple  about  it.  "No 
more  dipping  into  capital!" 

"Can  it  be  done?"  he  smiled. 

"Can  it  be  done!"  she  echoed.  "It  can  be  done 
delightfully.  I  shall  have  books,  and  Hannah,  and 
perhaps  some  day  I  will  buy  a  baby  Airedale,  and  ask 
Stephen  and  Mimi  Winship  to  tea !" 

The  simple  little  summary,  and  her  first  use  of  his 
name,  warmed  his  heart  suddenly  and  dangerously. 
He  felt  an  impulse  to  put  his  hand  over  hers,  and  tell 
her  that  he  thought  she  was  very  charming.  Instead 
he  let  her  fill  his  cup  again,  and  felt  again  resentment 
against  the  clock  that  was  hurrying  this  fortuitous  and 
happy  time. 

Mrs.  Lombard  was  silent,  her  eyes  dropped,  her  deli- 
cate white  hands  holding  the  fragile  cup.  And  Stephen 
was  content  to  watch  her  in  silence. 

Hannah  came  in  with  the  books.  Mrs.  Lombard 
brightened,  put  down  her  cup,  and  eagerly  taking  them 
in  her  lap,  handed  one  to  him  for  his  approval.  Her 
eyes  glinted  gold  as  she  rummaged  through  the  stiff, 
stained,  yellowed  pages. 

"You  have  the  first — 'Matilda  of  Flanders',"  she 
said,  animatedly,  leaning  against  his  arm. 

"Look  at  Matilda,"  Stephen  commented,  pushing 
up  the  tissue-paper  that  still  clung  to  the  old  steel 
engraving.  "No  nonsense  about  her!" 

"Elizabeth  has  a  whole  volume  to  herself,  and 
here  are  the  poor  Queens  of  Henry  the  Eighth,"  ex- 
ulted Mrs.  Lombard.  "I  shall  begin  this  to-night " 

"Look  here,"   Stephen  interrupted,  displaying  the 


116  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

fly-leaf  of  the  first  volume,  where  faded  ink  writing 
was  visible. 

Again  the  vital,  fragrant  young  figure  leaned  against 
him. 

'"George  to  Grace',"  Mrs.  Lombard  read  aloud, 
' 'Baltimore,  April  eighteenth,  1852.'  George  to  Grace! 
Perhaps  this  was  a  suitable  love-offering  seventy 
years  ago!"  she  added,  looking  up  with  a  smile.  "But 
look — here's  more!"  she  added,  turning  idly  to  the 
title-page. 

Bending  over  it  together,  they  read  in  a  girl's  clear, 
flowing  hand: 

"Grace  Delafield  from  her  friend,  George  Curran." 

"This  must  have  been  from  my  grandfather's 
library!"  Stephen  exclaimed.  "But  I  didn't  know 
that  we  ever  sold  any  books.  He  was  George  Curran." 

"But — but — but "  Mrs.  Lombard  was  actually 

stammering  in  her  excitement.  "  But  my  grandmother 
was  Grace  Delafield!"  she  said,  amazedly.  And  for  a 
moment  of  utter  astonishment  they  looked  blankly  at 
each  other. 

"Grace  Delafield  was  my  grandmother's  name," 
the  woman  said  again,  ending  the  little  pause. 

"George  Curran  was  certainly  my  grandfather," 
Stephen  persisted,  seriously. 

"And  was  he  ever  in  Baltimore?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  think  so." 

"You  don't  suppose,"  Mrs.  Lombard  said,  slowly, 
"that  your  grandfather  gave  my  grandmother  these 
books!" 

"Isn't  that  an  extraordinary  thing!"  Stephen  mused, 
staring  at  the  faded  inscription  as  if  he  could  see 
beyond  and  through  it.  "Now  let's  think  it  out. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  117 

Old  Captain  Tom  Curran  was  born  in  eighteen  hun- 
dred, and  my  father  about  eighteen-thirty,  I  think." 

"That  would  make  him  twenty-two  when  he  fell  in  love 
with  my  grandmother!"  Mrs.  Lombard  said,  eagerly. 

"Oh,  he  fell  in  love,  did  he?"  asked  Stephen,  amused. 

"Well,  of  course  he  did!  And  Grace — let  me  see." 
In  turn  she  began  her  own  calculations.  "I  am 
twenty-eight,"  she  mused,  "and  my  father,  Morgan 
Bannister,  would  have  been  thirty  when  I  was  born. 
That  takes  him  back  to  about  eighteen-sixty,  doesn't 
it?  Say  that  he  was  born  in  eighteen-sixty — his 
mother  was  Grace  Delafield  Bannister — I've  seen  it 
on  her  gravestone,  poor  Granny! — and  he  was  her 
third  child.  So  she  was  probably  married  at  about 
eighteen  fifty-four  or  five,  after —  '  her  eyes  moved 
to  his  with  charming  gravity,  almost  reproach — "after 
her  little  flirtation  with  your  grandfather!"  she  said. 

"This  is  the  strangest  thing  I've  ever  run  into  in 
my  life!"  Stephen  said.  "My  grandfather  got  over 
it,  anyway,"  he  boasted,  with  his  whimsical  smile, 
"for  he  married  Miss  Fanny  Rose,  of  Sanb ridge,  and 
lived  happily  ever  after!" 

"Nor  did  my  grandmother  die  of  a  broken  heart," 
Mrs.  Lombard  retorted,  composedly.  "Think  of  them," 
she  mused,  in  her  rich,  low  voice,  one  beautiful 
white  hand  touching  the  yellowed  pages,  "hoop- 
skirts  and  ringlets,  and  singing  'Champagne  Charley' 
and  'Juanita'!  George  and  Grace — you  poor  things! 
But  perhaps,"  she  added,  in  a  hopeful  tone  whose 
absurdity,  under  the  circumstances,  made  him  laugh, 
"perhaps  it  was  just  a  family  affair — aunts  and  uncles 
suggested  that  dear  George  make  little  Grace  a  nice 
present!  Perhaps  they  hated  each  other!" 


118  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"No,  I  don't  believe  it  was  that!"  Stephen  said, 
with  an  unsteady  laugh.  He  was  conscious  that  he 
was  losing  his  bearings  a  little,  he  had  a  confused  desire 
to  say  something  quite  perceptibly  foolish. 

"And  was  'Bonn's  Historical  Library'  the  acceptable 
gift  with  the  young  and  fair  of  that  day?"  he  asked, 
at  random. 

"Bohn?"  she  echoed,  sharply.    "This  is  Strickland!" 

For  answer  he  indicated  upon  the  cover,  under  the 

author's  name,  the  three  words  he  had  read  aloud. 

"But  that "  she  said,  almost  dazedly.  "Now 

that  is  simply  amazing!  Did — did  any  one  of  us, 
your  aunt  or  Fred  or  Mimi,  tell  you  of  the  night  we 
tried  planchette,  at  Judge  Curran's  house?" 

"Just  said  that  you  had,"  he  answered,  puzzled 
by  her  excitement. 

"Well !  But  wait  a  moment!"  she  said.  She 

went  quickly  out  of  the  room,  and  when  she  returned 
she  had  a  large  folded  sheet  of  paper  in  her  hands; 
paper  pencilled  erratically  from  top  to  bottom  with 
words,  scrolls,  and  hieroglyphics.  "There!  That's 
what  planchette  wrote  that  night,"  she  said,  sitting 
down  beside  Stephen,  a  little  pale,  and  spreading  the 
sheet  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  between  them.  "Look! 
Bohns — Bohns — do  you  see  it?  And  George,  George 
five  or  six  times — and  Grace  Delafield — see!  Field, 
and  Grace,  and  Delia — we  asked  if  it  was  Delia.  And 
see  here!  This  is  not  Delia!'" 

And  for  perhaps  a  minute  they  sat  staring  at  each 
other;  their  eyes  wide  with  amusement  and  amaze- 
ment, and  even  a  little  fright. 

"This  is  mighty  queer,"  Stephen  commented,  en- 
tirely at  a  loss. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  119 

"It's  extraordinary!  I  never  believed  in  it — before. 
Did  you?  But  you  can't  question — you  can't  question 
that  something  is  here  that  we  don't  understand." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  let  it  worry  me,"  Stephen  said, 
slowly,  his  half-smiling  and  half-troubled  eyes  still 
upon  the  scribbled  sheet.  "But  this  is  more  than 
mere  coincidence,"  he  conceded. 

"We  were  to  'look  in  Bohn's,  Number  Five,5"  she 
quoted,  musingly,  and  then  suddenly  electrified  with 
inspiration:  "I  know!  In  the  fifth  volume!" 

She  caught  it  up,  beating  a  cloud  of  dust  from  its 
old  covers.  Her  quick  finger  spun  past  the  stiff  pages, 
her  eyes  flashing  from  Stephen's  attentive  face  to  the 
yellowed  print. 

Into  her  lap  there  slipped  a  folded  sheet  of  note-paper, 
as  faded  and  discolored  as  the  rest. 

She  took  it  in  her  fingers,  and  looked  at  Stephen  in 
stupefaction. 

"Now,  I  don't  believe  this!"  she  said,  blankly. 
And  she  made  no  immediate  effort  to  read  it. 

"But  what  is  it?"  he  asked,  as  astonished  as  she 
was. 

She  held  it  out  to  him,  her  lips  a  little  parted,  her 
eyes  wide,  her  expression  almost  terrified. 

"You  read  it!"  she  whispered. 

He  opened  it,  a  small  sheet,  half-covered  with  writing 
in  a  girl's  fine  hand,  and  in  violet  ink.  At  the  top  of 
the  sheet  was  printed  in  colors  a  tiny  straw  basket, 
from  which  roses,  lilies,  and  marguerites  were  spilling 
in  a  flood. 

"George  dearest"  Stephen  read,  "7  am  so  sorry. 
Uncle  Harry  will  not  let  me  keep  them,  but  I  appreciate 
them  all  the  same.  Dear  George,  I  did  not  mean  what  I 


120  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

said  in  the  rose  arbor,  and  I  will  do  anything  you  wish. 
I  was  anxious  and  sad  about  this  horrible  money  question. 
Send  me  a  note  by  Cynthia.  Morgan  does  not  come  until 
Thursday.  He  is  always  kind  to  me,  and  I  know  he  will 
understand.  I  am  praying  that  God  will  guide  me.  I 
feel  so  young — though  I  am  seventeen.  I  am  so  sorry 
that  I  hurt  you! 

Your 

Grace." 

The  letter  fluttered  loose  in  Stephen's  fingers.  He 
and  the  woman  opposite  him  sat  silent,  looking  into 
each  other's  eyes.  There  was  a  glitter  of  tears  upon, 
her  lashes. 

"So  that  was  it!"  she  said,  trying  to  smile.  "They 
quarreled,  in  the  rose  arbor,  and  he  never  got  her  note, 
to  say  that  she  was  sorry!" 

"How  do  you  know  he  never  got  it?"  Stephen  asked, 
combatting  a  curious  sensation  that  this  was  all  a 
dream. 

"Because  he  wouldn't  have  left  it  in  this  book!" 
she  answered,  animatedly.  "She  hid  it  there — sending 
back  the  books  by  Cynthia.  And  he  never  found  it! 
And  then  Morgan  came — my  grandfather,  of  course, 
and  she  married  him!" 

"But  she  should  have  married  my  grandfather!" 
Stephen  said,  with  a  dazed  sort  of  laugh. 

"Evidently  the  women  of  my  family—  But 

Mrs.  Lombard  did  not  finish  her  thought.  "Til 
show  you  how  pretty  she  was!"  she  said.  And  again 
she  left  the  room. 

This  time  she  returned  with  a  daguerreotype-case 
of  purple  leather  and  gilded  tin,  opened  against  the 
smooth  warm  brownness  of  her  palm.  Stephen  looked 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  121 

upon  a  ringleted  belle  of  the  'fifties,  the  cascades  of 
her  striped  silk  gown  half-concealing  the  marble  ped- 
estal upon  which  she  elegantly  rested  an  elbow. 

"That's  Grace  Delafield.     Wasn't  she  lovely?" 

"She  was  beautiful.  I  don't—  "  said  Stephen,  with 
an  upward  smiling  glance — "I  don't  blame  my  grand- 
father!" 

Mrs.  Lombard  sat  down  again,  the  picture  and  the 
planchette  writing  in  her  hands. 

"No.  But  what  do  you  make  of  it?"  she  asked, 
in  simple  wonder. 

"I  don't  know!" 

"It  couldn't  be  coincidence?" 

He  looked  through  his  glasses  at  the  faded  inscrip- 
tion, glanced  at  what  she  held,  and  shook  his  head. 

"No.     We  have  to  dismiss  that  hypothesis!"   he  said. 

"But  then  what  does  explain  it!" 

"By  George,"  Stephen  said,  after  a  pause,  "I  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  it!" 

"It  makes  one  believe  in  spirits,"  smiled  Mrs.  Lom- 
bard. "'I  did  not  mean  what  I  said — I  am  so  sorry 
that  I  hurt  you!'"  she  quoted,  softly. 

"You  didn't  hurt  me!"  Stephen  said,  quickly,  in 
surprise. 

"No,  no;  I'm  reading  the  letter!"  She  looked  up 
innocently,  her  eyes  smiling,  but  at  the  sight  of  the 
odd  expression  on  his  face,  her  smile  faded,  and  the 
warm  color  crept  up  under  her  creamy  skin.  For  a 
long  minute  they  looked  at  each  other,  unable  to  move 
their  eyes. 

"The  thing  has  made  me  feel  so  queer,"  Stephen 
said,  with  an  awkward  little  laugh,  "that  I  don't 
know  whether  I'm  my  own  grandfather,  or  what." 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

•  7 

"After  all,"  she  mused,  "it  was  only  seventy  Aprils 

ago!  April "  She  picked  up  the  pencilled  paper 

again.  "Planchette  said  April,"  she  reminded  him. 
"Look  here—'April  second'.  The  day  Allen  died!" 

"And  the  day  we But  Stephen  did  not  finish 

his  sentence  as  he  had  intended.  "The  day  Fred 
and  I  came  down  here!"  he  substituted  somewhat 
flatly.  But  she  was  musing  over  the  page,  and  evi- 
dently did  not  share  his  scruples,  for  she  said  simply: 

"The  day  we  met  each  other.  Stephen!"  The 
name  was  a  mere  electric  whisper,  and  he  knew  that 
she  spoke  it  without  realizing  what  she  said.  "Does — 
does  this  frighten  you,  a  little?" 

Close  beside  him,  her  amber  eyes  shining  with  their 
strange  light,  her  smooth  cheeks  just  faintly  flushed, 
and  her  red  lips  parted,  she  seemed  to  him  almost 
startlingly  beautiful.  That  young  flesh  and  blood, 
under  a  crown  of  massed  amber  hair,  could  so  radiate 
warmth  and  fragrance  and  subtle  scent,  was  strange  to 
his  well-ordered  senses. 

He  saved  himself  with  a  reassuring  laugh;  no,  there 
was  nothing  frightening  about  it.  And  immediately  he 
got  to  his  feet,  only  anxious  to  get  out  into  the  air, 
away  from  the  spell  of  this  woman's  voice  and  beauty, 
this  seductive  hour  of  twilight  and  romance. 

Hannah  came  in  with  the  lamp;  it  seemed  to  him 
almost  a  desecration  that  the  voice  that  had  just 
been  uttering  these  strange  and  sweet  and  marvellous 
things  should  quietly  and  sweetly  address  the  maid, 
and  to-night,  when  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  Mrs/Lom- 
bard sent  her  love  "to  Mimi,"  Stephen  felt  that  the 
recipient  rather  than  the  sender  was  honored  by  the 
little  message. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  123 

He  looked  up  from  the  door,  but  she  had  turned 
back;  it  was  like  her  calm  poise,  her  indifference. 
Most  women,  Mimi,  for  instance,  would  have  called 
good-byes  after  him  until  the  actual  closing  of  the  door. 

It  was  with  a  heart  brimming  with  confused  emotions 
that  he  walked  briskly  through  the  soft  May  dusk 
of  the  square.  Children  were  still  running  and  scream- 
ing, lights  were  pricking  through  the  warm  orange 
gloom,  the  last  glow  was  still  dying  in  the  west. 

Stephen  got  into  his  car,  sat  still  a  few  moments, 
dreaming.  Gas  lights  were  rasping  above  the  book- 
stalls now,  a  few  young  boys  were  lingering  over  the 
tables.  Loudly  talking  laborers  went  by,  homeward 
bound. 

He  drove  about  the  rectangle  of  the  square,  to  pass 
the  rectory  again,  and  looked  up  at  the  windows.  A 
soft  glow  was  shining  there  now,  and  as  he  looked 
up  a  shadow  fluttered  across  it,  and  made  his  heart  beat 
fast. 

It  would  not  do  to  have  her  glance  out  and  see  him. 
He  turned  toward  Washington  Street,  and  left  the  old 
square  behind  him.  Speeding  down  the  big  main 
thoroughfare,  he  passed  a  clock;  it  had  stopped.  A  few 
squares  further  was  another  clock,  also  stopped,  and 
at  the  same  hour  of  five  minutes  past  seven. 

A  sudden  uneasy  suspicion  dawned  upon  Stephen; 
could  these  clocks  possibly  be  right?  The  evenings 
were  growing  bright  now!  With  a  little  audible  groan 
he  raised  his  left  wrist. 

Good  heavens!  it  was  after  seven  o'clock.  And  he 
had  promised  Mimi  to  be  early,  to  take  her  to  a  theatre 
dinner  at  the  Jenkins'. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

STEPHEN  ran  up  his  aunt's  steps  at  ten  minutes  after 
the  hour;  they  were  all  waiting  for  him.  Mimi  was 
with  Grace  and  Fred;  she  looked  a  little  anxious,  but 
prettier  for  that,  in  her  fairy-like  green  tulle,  with  her 
big  fur  coat  over  her  arm.  Mrs.  Curran,  uncomfortable 
in  formal  evening  dress,  looked  at  him  in  kindly  exas- 
peration, for  the  expected  explanation,  the  Judge 
dropped  his  paper,  and  listened,  from  his  big  chair. 

"  Come  on,  explain  why  it  took  you  two  hours  to  tell 
pretty  Mrs.  Lombard  that  Aunt  Bessy  wanted  her  for 
luncheon!"  Grace  said,  mischievously.  Stephen  had 
never  liked  Grace  very  well;  she  was  a  lean,  rather  col- 
orless girl,  with  too  much  manner,  and  an  absolute  lik- 
ing for  unpleasantness.  "We're  all  waiting — the  Jen- 
kins just  telephoned,  and  Mimi  is  thinking  of  breaking 
her  engagement!"  added  Grace,  vivaciously. 

Mimi  merely  laughed  at  this;  she  came  over  to 
Stephen,  and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  smiling 
up  into  his  eyes  with  perfect  confidence  and  affection. 

"It  isn't  important  at  all!"  she  said,  good-naturedly. 
"I  know  you  couldn't  help  it!" 

This  did  not  seem  to  be  the  moment  for  any  talk 
of  George  Curran  and  Grace  Delafield ;  Stephen  ignored 
Grace,  and  smiled  comfortably  at  Mimi. 

"I  was  detained,"  he  said.  "I'm  awfully  sorry! 
I'll  rush  up,  and  be  dressed  in  five  minutes 

What  he  said  mattered  little  to  Mimi  because  she 

124 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  125 

loved  him  so.  Everything  was  radiant  and  serene 
again,  because  Stephen  was  here. 

"I  think — there  are  so  many  of  us,  that  we'd  better 
go  on  without  you,"  she  said.  There  was  no  other 
reproach,  and  Mimi  was  so  charming  to  Stephen  to- 
night, so  happy  arid  confident,  that  he  thought  that  he 
loved  her  better  than  he  had  ever  done  in  his  life. 

But  when  she  had  loyally  explained  to  Aunt  Bessy, 
and  to  Mrs.  Jenkins,  and  to  sundry  other  interested 
persons,  that  the  nature  of  Stephen's  work  was  to 
keep  him  busy  at  all  hours,  and  that  a  lawyer's  wife 
always  had  that  problem  to  meet,  like  a  doctor's  wife, 
he  found  that  he  could  not  quite  simply  enter  upon  the 
matter  of  "Bonn's  Library"  and  the  "Lives  of  the 
Queens,"  and  the  coincidence — to  call  it  that,  of  the 
old  scribblings  of  planchette.  If  Mimi  or  his  aunt 
chanced  to  ask  about  Mrs.  Lombard,  he  meant  to  re- 
count the  incident  with  great  enthusiasm  and  spon- 
taneity, but  neither  Mimi  nor  Mrs.  Curran  did. 

On  Friday  evening  he  asked  his  aunt  casually  about 
her  luncheon;  had  Mrs.  Lombard  come?  Oh,  yes; 
Mrs.  Curran  answered  him  unsuspectingly,  she  had  had 
four  ladies,  it  had  been  very  nice.  They  had  talked 
about — well,  the  Red  Cross,  and  Mimi,  of  course. 
And  Mrs.  Porter  had  asked  Mrs.  Lombard  if  she 
ever  had  tried  planchette  again,  but  she  had  said  no. 
And  afterward  they  had  gone  out  to  Keystone  Road 
to  inspect  the  new  house. 

So  she  had  deliberately  concealed  the  book  incident, 
Stephen  thought,  with  a  little  contempt  for  such 
weakness.  But  immediately  he  remembered  that  he 
himself  had  probably  given  her  her  cue — by  one  of  two 
•w*  -wd  questions  she  might  swiftly  have  ascertained 


126  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

that  Mrs.  Curran  knew  nothing  of  the  matter,  and  have 
patterned  her  own  policy  upon  his. 

This  duplicity  was  foreign  to  Stephen's  idea  of 
himself,  and  it  troubled  him,  and  made  him  a  trifle 
resentful  of  Mrs.  Lombard's  influence  on  his  life. 
He  found  himself  constantly  thinking  of  her,  of  ways 
to  show  her  how  entirely  innocent  he  was  of  anything 
like  a  secret  feeling  for  her,  or  a  tacit  understanding 
with  her.  To  be  concealing  anything,  with  her,  was 
to  feel  disloyal  to  Mimi. 

A  few  days  later,  when  Mimi  had  gone  to  a  matinee 
with  two  or  three  of  her  friends,  he  drove  down  to 
Kingsgreen  Square  again,  with  no  definite  object  in 
view.  She  might  not  be  in,  there  might  be  other  people 
there,  he  was  not  so  much  anxious  to  see  her,  as  anxious 
to  prove  to  himself  that  it  was  not  important  whether 
he  saw  her  or  not,  and  that  there  was  nothing  mys- 
terious about  her. 

She  was  at  home,  and  she  was  alone,  and  again,  with 
a  deep  sense  of  utter  content,  Stephen  sat  down,  and 
looked  about  the  shabby  pleasant  room  with  satis- 
faction. TV  ere  was  nothing  "period"  here;  it  had  a 
slightly  more  cleared  look  than  he  remembered,  but 
it  was  always  homely,  comfortable,  simple,  even  poor. 
It  had  distinction,  it  expressed  not  only  a  momentary 
and  passing  mood,  but  it  held  the  past  safely  in  its  old 
chairs  and  pictures  and  bits  of  odd  china. 

Lucretia  Lombard,  too,  partook  of  this  same  quality; 
the  quality  of  a  steadily  moving  stream  that  is 
unchanged  by  its  environment,  rather  than  divided 
into  distracting  pools  and  waterfalls.  Her  manner 
was  quiet,  her  black  gown  simple,  she  listened  rather 
than  talked,  and  showed  that  she  felt,  in  Stephf  ' 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  127 

presence  here,  the  same  pleasure  that  he  himself  ex- 
perienced. 

The  fragrant  tea,  the  plain  bread  and  butter,  the  mar- 
vellous voice  and  the  watching,  shining  eyes;  it  was 
all  what  he  had  liked  so  much,  and  wanted  so  much. 

And  what  harm,  he  asked  himself,  driving  away  at 
half-past  five  o'clock.  What  had  they  talked  about? 
Books,  and  themselves — he  wondered  if  he  had  dwelt 
too  long  upon  the  reminiscences  of  his  boyhood  into 
which  he  had  somehow  been  beguiled — and  she  had 
told  him  seriously  of  a  little  French  bakery  where  one 
could  get  brioche  for  fifteen  cents — great  big  ones. 
He  had  said  he  was  not  quite  sure  what  brioche  was 
and  she  had  answered  with  her  friendly  sjnile  that  he 
wras  eating  a  toasted  brioche  at  that  moment. 

He  was  to  meet  Mimi  and  Marjorie  and  Sue  at  the 
International  Hotel  after  the  theatre,  but  they  were 
late,  having  stopped  to  look  at  a  salmon-pink  smock, 
and  Stephen  was  waiting  alone  at  a  table  when  they 
apologetically  and  laughingly  arrived.  Their  excuses 
made  him  feel  more  secure  than  ever  in  his  own  in- 
tegrity, and  as  he  was  driving  them  to  an  early  bridge- 
dinner  at  the  Country  Club,  he  told  Mimi,  furred  and 
eager  beside  him  on  the  front  seat,  that  he  had  seen 
Mrs.  Lombard  that  afternoon. 

"Stephen,  weren't  you  nice  to  run  in?"  the  girl 
approved,  heartily.  "How  is  she?" 

But  before  he  could  answer,  some  nonsense  from 
Ted,  Marjorie,  anil  Sue  in  the  back  seat  caused  a 
diversion,  and  Mimi  twisted  squarely  about  to  hang 
over  the  back  of  the  seat  and  join  them  in  conversation. 

Her  indifference  made  him  happy,  and  the  evening 
was  a  success  from  every  point  of  view.  But  from  that 


128  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

day  there  was  a  subtle  change  in  Stephen.  He  did  not 
define  it  to  himself.  He  hardly  realized,  because  his 
feeling  toward  Mrs.  Lombard  was  so  innocent,  how 
often  his  thoughts  were  with  her. 

When  he  sat  in  her  little  sitting-room  in  the  rectory, 
watching  the  amber  head  and  the  quickly  moving 
white  hands,  he  was  entirely  free  from  any  sense  of 
disloyalty  to  Mimi.  The  glow  that  always  accom- 
panied him  when  he  went  away  sometimes  warmed 
him  through  an  entire  abstracted,  kindly  evening; 
it  was  no  sooner  gone  than  he  was  planning  to  see 
Lucretia  again.  The  telephone  thrilled  him,  because 
once  or  twice  she  had  telephoned  him  at  his  office. 
The  mail  he  tossed  aside  disappointedly,  if  one  of  her 
stiff  white  envelopes  was  not  there;  yet  when  she  wrote 
it  was  but  a  few  words  of  thanks  for  flowers  or  books. 
The  streets  of  Sanbridge,  dingy  in  the  first  flood  of 
summer  heat  and  light,  were  brightened  with  the  mere 
possibility  that  there  might  move  through  them,  at  any 
unexpected  corner,  the  plain  homespun  black  suit, 
the  crisp  transparent  black  veil,  the  clear  eyes  that 
always  lighted  so  pleasantly  when  they  met  his. 

Toward  Mimi  he  was  not  conscious  of  a  change  of 
feeling.  She  had  always  been  his  confident,  gay  little 
sister,  full  of  life  and  nonsense  and  little  unexpected 
tendernesses;  he  had  always  been  her  affectionately 
interested  and  loyal  admirer.  He  loved  her  still,  was 
proud  of  her.  He  liked  the  dark  head,  and  the  glowing 
cheeks,  the  slender  figure  so  smartly  habited  on  horse- 
back, or  in  blazing  orange  and  white  on  the  links. 
He  liked  to  have  this  particular  girl  single  herself 
out  from  the  fluffy,  laughing  group  of  girls  in  yellow 
and  green  and  pink,  at  a  dance,  and  come  smiKog 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  129 

toward  him,  shining  slippers  reflected  in  the  shining 
floor,  and  a  warm  young  hand  to  hold  his  while  they 
talked  together. 

There  was  something  eminently  satisfactory  about 
Mimi;  she  was  in  everything  adequate,  and  in  nothing 
extreme.  She  was,  as  the  girls  often  told  her,  "a 
darling." 

"Shall  you  miss  me  when  I  am  up  on  the  mountain, 
Steve?"  she  asked  him,  idly,  one  warm  noontime  in 
early  June,  when  they  were  decorously  walking  home 
from  church  together.  St.  Gregory's  was  but  a  few 
squares  away  from  the  aristocratic  part  of  Sanbridge, 
and  the  correct  thing  was  to  walk  to  church  on  Sunday 
morning.  Mimi  was  enjoying  this  virtuous  act  es- 
pecially to-day,  because  she  was  wearing  a  delightful 
blue  swiss  gown  dotted  finely  in  yellow,  with  a  wide- 
brimmed  French  hat  of  the  same  material,  upon  which 
two  exquisite  yellow  roses  had  been  knowingly  placed. 
Her  silk  stockings  were  blue,  and  her  patent  leather 
pumps  shining  like  mirrors,  and  to  complete  the  cos- 
tume she  carried  a  frivolous  lace  parasol  with  an 
amber-yellow  bracelet  in  the  handle. 

To  walk  beside  Stephen,  to  bow  and  nod  to  admiring 
friends,  to  feel  the  delicious  warm  air  soft  upon  her  face, 
and  to  know  that  the  day  stretched  pleasantly  before 
her  through  a  vista  of  informal  Sunday  lunch,  when  Sue 
and  Ted  and  Jerry  Stover  would  drop  in,  to  an  afternoon 
at  the  club,  or  drifting  about  making  calls,  and  a  summer 
dinner  in  thin  frocks  at  the  Montgomerys',  was  enough 
to  make  Mimi's  unspoiled  heart  soar  like  a  bird. 

They  were  going  to  see  the  new  house  after  lunch, 
and  that  was  a  delight;  there  were  always  a  dozen 
new  details  of  ice-box,  of  towel-racks  to  discuss,  new 


130  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

joys  in  the  way  of  cedar  closets  or  ingeniously  placed 
mirrors  to  discover,  wonderful  debates  as  to  rugs  and 
the  placing  of  book-cases. 

"Steve,"  said  Mimi,  contentedly,  sauntering  at  his 
side,  "shall  you  miss  me  when  I  go  up  to  Red  Pine 
Mountain?" 

He  looked  at  her  indulgently. 

"Oh,  no,  why  should  I?  Dozens  of  girls  left  in 
town!"  he  answered,  smiling. 

"You'll  be  up  every  week-end,"  Mimi  said,  pleased. 
"And  then  two  weeks'  vacation  in  August?  And  then 
we  all  come  down — and  then — plans!" 

"And  you'll  be  having  dressmakers  and  caterers  and 
presents,  I  suppose,"  Stephen  observed,  "and  every- 
thing will  be  in  one  grand  scramble!" 

"Ah,  but  I  love  that  scramble!"  Mimi,  whose  eyes 
were  dancing  at  the  picture,  answered,  gaily.  "The 
gowns — bridesmaids  and  all  that,  and  Aunt  Bessy 
talking  to  Bernardi  about  the  supper,  and  I  think  to 
Treat,  too,  about  announcements  and  that!  And,  Steve, 
I  shall  have  to  have  cards — it  did  thrill  me  so  to  re- 
member that!  Mrs.  John  Stephen  Winship !  Of 

course  it  will  be  a  scramble,"  she  confessed,  contentedly, 
"but  I  intend  to  rest  and  sleep  late  and  just  loaf  all 
summer — except  when  you're  there,  of  course " 

'This  is  June,"  he  mused.     "You  go  up  July  first?" 

'July  second — a  week  from  Monday.  Aunt  Bessy 
is  taking  Lizzie,  and  old  Matea  is  there.  Mrs.  Jenkins 
and  Sue  will  be  up  later,  and  Fred,  of  course — Steve," 
Mimi  was  suddenly  diverted,  "is  Fred  all  right?" 

The  dreamy,  pleased  expression  of  his  face  altered  in- 
star,  dy  into  concern. 

"How  do  you  mean  all  right?"  he  asked,  sharply. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  131 

"He  seems — worried,"  Mimi  hesitated.  "I  don't 
know — but  I  think  he  tried  to  borrow  money  last  week," 
she  added,  with  a  cautious  glance  and  in  a  lowered 
tone. 

"Who  said  so?" 

"Why,  no  one  actually  said  so.  But  Belle  Newell 
was  in  the  Bank  the  other  day,  waiting  for  Roy,  and  she 
heard  somebody  say  something  about  advising  someone 
not  to  consider  it — men's  voices  back  of  the  partition,, 
you  know — and  then  she  heard  Fred  saying,  quite 
loud,  *  Don't  you  worry,  Jim,  if  I  need  money  I  can 
always  get  it!'  And  she  supposed  the  'Jim*  was  Jimmy 
Unger,  he's  one  of  the  vice-presidents,  now— 

"That  wasn't  Fred,  though!"  Stephen  said,  dis- 
missing a  troubled  frown,  and  in  a  confident  tone. 

"Oh,  yes,  it  was,  Steve,  for  he  came  out,  and  walked 
with  her  and  the  baby  across  to  the  Tiffin  Shop." 

"Fred  would  speak  to  me,  if  anything  had  come 
up—  But  Stephen  was  uneasy,  and  showed  it. 

"Does  he — could  it  be  gambling  debts,  Steve?" 

"Lord,  no,  those  boys  don't  play  very  high.  No, 
I'm  sure  not—  He  mused,  and  Mimi  sent  him 

more  than  one  sympathetic  and  sorry  glance.  "What 
the  deuce  could  that  have  been,  now?"  he  said. 

"I'm  sorry  I  told  you!"  Mimi  exclaimed,  impul- 
sively. 

"Oh,  no — no,  I'm  glad  you  did!  I  wonder  where 
Fred  is  to-day.  I  ought  to  get  hold  of  him  right  away." 

"Steve,  he's  such  a  worry  to  you!"  the  girl  said, 
regretfully. 

"But  the  sort  of  worry  you  love!"  Stephen  answered, 
with  his  good,  serious  smile.  Mimi  felt  the  salt  in  her 
eyes. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"I  wonder  if  you  are  going  to  be  as  good  a  husband 
as  you  are  a  brother,  Steve?"  she  asked,  with  a  light 
pressure  of  her  white-gloved  hand  on  his  arm. 

"I  am  not  anything  like  as  good  a  brother  as  I  hope 
to  be  a  husband,  my  dear!"  he  answered,  soberly, 
with  a  look  that  made  Mimi  feel  happy  all  day.  He 
did  love  her — there  was  nothing  that  he  could  give 
that  was  not  hers,  the  girl  told  herself  eagerly. 

They  would  be  married  in  the  early  winter,  only 
a  few  months  away  now.  And  yet  she  found  herself 
incessantly  analyzing  and  watching,  hoping  and  fear- 
ing. Did  Stephen  really  love  her?  After  marriage, 
when  they  had  come  back  from  New  York  and  At- 
lantic City  and  Point  Comfort,  when  they  were  settled 
among  the  flowery  walls  and  polished  floors  of  the 
beautiful  home,  then  all  this  unrest  and  doubt  would 
cease,  Mimi  told  herself.  Then  she  would  be  his 
wife — she  knew  what  Stephen's  loyalty  was.  But 
now — his  attitude  toward  this  engagement  almost 
partook  disquietingly  of  their  old  relationship  of  ward 
and  guardian;  he  stirred  her  to  the  very  deeps  of  her 
being,  but  she  could  not  rouse  in  him  anything  more 
than  the  old  affection  and  admiration  and  kindly 
interest. 

Sometimes  Mimi  despised  herself  for  the  constant 
.uneasiness  of  her  heart  and  for  the  cowardice  that  made 
it  impossible  for  her  to  put  the  problem  frankly  before 
Stephen.  And  sometimes  she  solaced  herself  with 
a  comforting  yet  heart-breaking  resolution  to  break 
the  engagement — or  at  least  to  tell  Stephen  she  thought 
they  had  better  break  it,  until  they  were  more  sure 

At  this  point  he  must  catch  her  in  his  arms,  and  flood 
her  hungry  soul  with  protest  and  denial— 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  133 

But  suppose  he  agreed  to  a  delay  of  the  wedding, 
admitted  that  he  had  spoken  too  hastily? 

No;  coward  that  she  was,  she  couldn't  risk  that. 
She  dared  not  try  that!  Stephen  was  her  world; 
she  could  not  face  life  without  him,  especially  after 
these  intoxicating  weeks  when  he  had  claimed  her 
before  them  all! 

And  it  was  nonsense  to  cloud  this  lovely  time  with 
such  hysterical  suspicions.  With  the  house  growing 
daily  in  beauty,  and  only  the  mountain  summer  be- 
tween her  and  her  new  estate,  how  foolish — how  wrong 
— it  was  to  fret  herself  with  these  absurdities! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MIMI  went  down,  on  a  humid  June  day  of  heavy  fog, 
to  say  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Lombard.  Her  hostess  was 
just  in  from  a  walk;  tea  was  served  to  an  accompani- 
ment of  muffled  horns  from  the  river,  and  muffled 
motor-horns  from  Kingsgreen  Square.  Hannah  was 
out;  Mimi  admired  the  ease  with  which  the  little 
ceremony  was  conducted. 

"Tell  me  about  the  cabin  at  Red  Pine,"  Lucretia 
said,  stirring  her  own  cup,  and  eyeing  her  guest  with 
satisfaction. 

Mimi,  very  pretty  in  a  striped  skirt  and  soft  silk 
blouse,  with  a  plain  hat  pushed  down  over  her  dark 
hair,  described  it  animatedly.  It  was  just  as  rough  as 
it  could  be,  of  course — real  mountains,  there  had 
been  bears  and  wildcats  there  only  a  few  years  ago. 
But  the  cabin — or  cabins,  were  comfortable,  with  big 
screened  porches,  and  showers,  and  then  of  course  there 
was  fruit,  and  the  lake,  and  the  big  woods,  and  moon- 
rises,  and  sunsets 

"We  all  love  it!"  confessed  Mimi.  "We've  been 
going  up  there  since  I  was  a  little  girl.  Aunt  Bessy 
and  Uncle  Sam  and  I  have  one  cabin,  and  the  Jenkins 
have  one,  and  the  Rutgers.  We  take  the  motor-cars, 
— you  can  drive  down  to  Warren's  Mills — my  grand- 
father's old  mills — in  twenty  minutes,  and  that's 
only  six  miles  from  Farley's.  You'd—  "  she  amended 
the  phrase — "you  will  love  it,"  she  smiled.  "I  do 

134 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  135 

wish  you  could  come  up  for  a  few  nights!  Could  it  be 
managed?  The  best  train  leaves  here  at  three,  and 
gets  to  Farley's  about  five — or  sometimes  we  motor  all 
the  way,  in  about  three  hours." 

"It  sounds  charming!"  said  Lucretia  Lombard, 
slowly. 

"Well,  then,  shall  we  set  a  date  now?" 

"But  I  am  going  to  New  York  for  a  fortnight/' 
said  the  older  woman,  "and  I  am  not  quite  sure  when 
that  will  be.  Sladski,  the  English  pianist,  and  his 
wife — old  friends  of  mine — are  coming  down  from 
Canada  to  make  arrangements  for  some  winter  con- 
certs, and  they  are  anxious  to  have  me  meet  them  there, 
and  guide  them  about  a  bit.  His  real  name  is  Slade— 
Mr.  Lombard  and  I  were  in  the  same  pension  with  them, 
years  ago,  when  he  was  starving  and  working  and  strug- 
gling— but  he  is  very  successful  now." 

"But  when  you  come  back?"  Mimi  urged. 

Before  she  answered,  the  other  woman  looked  at 
her  thoughtfully;  there  was  a  faint  cloud  on  the  lovely 
vivid  face. 

"I  would  love  it,"  she  said,  constrainedly.  And 
almost  immediately  she  rose,  and  walked  to  the  window. 

Mimi's  eyes  followed  her  with  surprise  and  sym- 
pathy. She  supposed  that  she  had  touched  some 
sensitive  chord,  had  hurt  the  lovely  Mrs.  Lombard 
quite  innocently. 

Her  hostess  remained  at  the  casement,  looking  out 
between  the  plain  net  hangings  into  fog-shrouded 
Kingsgreen  Square.  Her  figure,  even  in  this  setting, 
had  a  suggestion  of  stateliness,  there  was  something 
romantic,  something  essentially  feminine,  in  the  plain 
gown  that  showed  the  beautiful  curves  of  breast  and 


136  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

arm  so  distinctly,  the  drooping,  gold-brown  head, 
the  shapely  ringed  hand  resting  lightly  against  the 
pane. 

After  a  moment  Lucretia  rejoined  her,  showing 
her  usual  quiet  manner;  the  summer  visit  was  promised 
and  she  went  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  with  Mimi,  and 
lingered  there,  clinging  to  the  girl's  hand  as  if  she  hated 
to  have  her  go. 

Mimi  nodded  and  smiled  up  at  her,  closed  the  door, 
and  turned  into  the  brooding  mist  and  fog.  The  air 
was  warm  and  heavy  with  moisture,  trees  dripped 
softly  and  silently  in  the  dim  afternoon  light,  toward 
the  west  a  smouldering  yellow-gray  brightness  in  the 
low,  smothering  sky  showed  where  the  struggling  sun 
was  hidden.  There  was  a  hot-house  sweetness  from 
the  elms,  from  the  damp  earth  of  the  park. 

Mimi  got  into  her  car,  busied  herself  with  brake  and 
gears,  and  touched  her  starter  absentmindedly.  Her 
thoughts  were  pleasantly  rilled  with  the  next  call — 
she  must  go  see  old  Cousin  Mary  Dolliver. 

Another  car  turned  into  Kingsgreen  Square,  circled 
on  the  cobbles,  and  stopped  only  fifty  feet  behind  her. 
Mimi,  starting,  glanced  at  it,  moved  on  her  way,  her 
heart  dancing  with  sudden  excitement,  paused  at  the 
corner  and  looked  back  at  it  again. 

There  was  no  mistake;  it  was  Stephen's  car,  and  the 
man  who  got  out  of  it,  and  ran  up  Mrs.  Lombard's 
steps,  was  Stephen.  It  was  delicious — it  was  a  thing 
that  happened  so  rarely! — this  unexpected  meeting 
with  the  most  important  person  in  the  world.  Once 
they  had  met  just  outside  the  Woman's  Exchange, 
and  Mimi  had  liked  the  Woman's  Exchange  ever  since! 
And  once  when  she  was  lunching  with  Belle  Newell 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  137 

at  the  hotel,  Stephen  and  Roy  Newell  had  come 
across  the  restaurant  to  join  them. 

She  would  have  met  him  at  the  dinner  table  to-night; 
but  it  was  wonderful  to  anticipate  that  meeting  by 
an  hour  or  two.  Mimi  wheeled  her  car  about,  and 
stopped  it  with  its  fender  almost  touching  the  fender 
of  his  own  car. 

Twice  she  rang  the  bell;  there  was  no  answer.  Mimi 
was  puzzled;  Hannah  she  knew  was  out,  but  there  was 
surely  no  possibility  that  they  could  not  hear.  Per- 
haps it  did  not  ring!  she  thought,  only  to  remember  that 
she  had  rung  it  herself  a  short  hour  ago. 

She  tried  the  door;  it  was  open,  and  she  went  dim- 
pling and  smiling  up  the  brief  flight. 

Stephen  had  opened  that  door  for  himself  only 
five  minutes  before,  and  had  mounted  the  stairs  with 
a  heart  beating  with  as  much  pleasure  and  expectation 
as  Mimi's  own.  Lucretia  rose  from  her  chair  as  he 
came  to  the  door  of  the  sitting-room,  and  they  met  as 
they  often  did,  in  silence;  she  raised  one  of  his  hands 
between  both  her  own,  and  they  stood  close  together, 
smiling  with  mysterious  joy  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"You've  had  tea?"  Stephen  said,  glancing  at  the  tray. 

"I  thought" — It  was  always  wonderful  to  him,  this 
first  sound  of  her  voice — "I  thought  you  had  gone 
to  Albany?" 

"  I  go  to-morrow.  I'd  forgotten  that  to-day  there  was 
a  special  meeting  of  the  aldermen — I  had  to  be  there. 
And  when  it  was  over — ten  minutes  ago — I  began  to 
think  about — tea!" 

"  You  shall  have  it,"  she  promised,  in  a  tone  suddenly 
troubled  and  thoughtful.  "Mimi  has  just  been  here." 

"Mimi!"  he  echoed. 


138  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"To  say  good-bye.  She  was  here  not  five  minutes  ago!'' 

"I  saw  a  car  turning  out  of  the  square,"  he  re- 
membered. 

"But  did  she  see  you?"  Mrs. Lombard  asked,  quickly. 

"Oh,  no — she  would  have  stopped!"  the  man  said, 
confidently. 

Lucretia  had  remained  standing,  now  he  looked 
tentatively  at  a  chair. 

"No,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head,  "I  think  you'd 
better  not  stay,  I  think  you'd  better  follow  Mimi,  and 
tell  her  you  were  looking  for  her.  Perhaps — you  and  I 
—had  better  go  no  further,  Stephen." 

There  was  a  pause,  while  he  looked  at  her  seriously. 

"Further  in  what?"  he  asked,  briefly  and  grimly. 

"In  our  friendship,"  Lucretia  answered,  simply. 

"Mimi  knows  that  I  come  to  see  you — asks  me  to!" 
Stephen  said. 

"But  she  doesn't  know "  Lucretia  was  silent, 

studied  his  face  for  a  moment  with  anxious  eyes,  and 
looked  down.  "She  doesn't  know  just  how  much  it 
means  to  me,  to  have  you  come!"  she  began  again. 

Stephen  was  astonished  to  feel  his  heart  begin  to  beat 
rapidly,  with  an  unreasoning  pleasure  and  excitement. 

"Do  you  see?"  she  asked,  with  a  sort  of  resolute 
sternness. 

"I  suppose  I  see  what  you  mean,"  he  was  beginning, 
confusedly,  when  the  bell  rang.  "Who  is  that?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know!"  Lucretia  said,  after  a  second  of 
attention.  "Let  him  ring.  Hannah  is  not  here!" 

"Might  it  be  Fred?"  Stephen  knew  that  his  brother 
sometimes  came  to  see  Lucretia,  and  was  a  little  curious 
about  their  friendship. 

"Fred,"  she  answered,  casually,  "would  not  ring!" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  139 

And  still  standing,  she  resumed:  "You  are  engaged 
to  Mimi,  Stephen,  going  to  be  married  in  a  few  months! 
Is  it  fair  to  her " 

"But  Mimi  knows  that  I  will  still  have  women 
friends!"  he  said,  in  amazement,  almost  in  anger. 
"What  harm  do  you  and  I  do  when  we  have  a  cup  of  tea 
together!  Surely — surely  you  are  exaggerating ' 

The  bell  rang  again.     Lucretia  looked  puzzled. 

"I  can't  think  who  that  can  be!  Perhaps  Hannah 
is  back,  I'll  see  if  she  will  answer  it,"  she  said.  She 
met  Mimi  at  the  top  of  the  stairs.  "Oh,  I'm  glad  you 
came  back,"  Stephen  heard  her  say,  composedly,  "for 
I  had  not  asked  you  where  you  were  going,  and  didn't 
know  how  to  send  him  after  you!" 

A  little  confused,  Stephen  greeted  his  promised 
wife;  more  tea  was  declined;  for  a  few  minutes  the  three 
stood  chatting  together. 

"I  knew  Stephen  was  looking  for  me!"  Mimi  said, 
laughing  at  him.  "But  who  told  you  I  was  here, 
Steve?  Aunt  Bessy?" 

"And  what  a  close  call — another  minute  and  you 
would  have  been  gone!"  Lucretia  interposed,  adroitly. 
Stephen  felt  a  sensation  of  love  and  loyalty  toward 
little  innocent  Mimi,  almost  a  surprise  at  his  own  sense 
of  shame — that  circumstances  so  innocent  in  themselves 
could  seem  to  shut  her  out  of  his  frankest  confidence. 
He  went  home  with  her  a  few  minutes  later  full  of 
devotion  and  attention  toward  her,  and  nursing  a 
stern  determination  not  to  call  at  the  rectory  again  for 
months.  While  it  had  all  been  just  a  frank,  enjoyable 
friendship  he  had  been  delighted  to  drop  in  there  now 
and  then,  but  this  aspect  of  secrecy  and  deceit  and  trag- 
edy must  be  checked  in  the  very  beginning. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THERE  was  a  dinner  and  bridge-party  at  the  Stovers' 
in  honor  of  an  elderly,  visiting  French  surgeon,  on  the 
night  before  Mimi  and  the  Currans  left  for  the  moun- 
tains. The  hot  weather  made  the  affair  informal,  the 
men  wore  white,  and  almost  all  the  girls  were  in  simple 
white  as  well.  Stephen  arrived  late,  and  had  slipped 
into  his  seat  beside  Mimi  at  the  table  before  he  chanced 
to  hear  the  deep  voice  he  knew  so  well,  and  looked 
up  to  see  Lucretia  Lombard  opposite  him,  slowly 
waving  a  plumy  black  fan,  and  talking  to  young 
Doctor  Bert  Lucas,  on  her  left,  who  was  quite  obviously 
absorbed.  On  her  right  was  the  guest  of  honor,  whom 
she  had  known,  it  appeared,  in  France. 

She  wore  delicate  black  lace;  he  had  never  seen  the 
creamy-brown  arms  and  throat  bare  before  to-night; 
against  her  warm  skin  the  famous  pearls  gleamed  with 
rosy  lustre;  her  crown  of  amber-brown  hair  glinted 
in  the  soft  candle-light.  Among  the  white-clad  girls, 
with  their  foamy  frills  and  delicate  ribbons,  she  was 
exotic  and  brilliant;  Mimi  on  one  side  of  him,  and 
Marjorie  Rutger  on  the  other,  both  murmured  in  his 
ear,  in  the  modern  generous  fashion,  that  Mrs.  Lom- 
bard was  perfectly  stunning,  wasn't  she  beautiful  to- 
night, everyone  said  that  she  was  simply  gorgeous! 

She  met  Stephen's  smiling  greeting  with  dignity, 
and  only  the  quick  flicker  of  a  smile,  and  turned  to 
the  man  beside  her  again.  Stephen  felt  an  odd  pang. 

140 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  141 

What  was  wrong?  She  had  never  been  so  brief  with 
him  before. 

After  dinner  he  tried  to  manage  a  word  alone  with 
her,  if  only  to  show  her  how  innocent  and  casual  his 
feeling  was,  but  she  evaded  him  deliberately.  She 
was  not  going  to  stay  for  cards;  it  was  already  ten 
o'clock — thank  you,  but  Fred  was  driving  her  home. 
Stephen  could  only  listen,  vaguely  hurt,  as  he  heard 
her  make  an  appointment  with  the  old  surgeon  for 
tea-time  the  next  day;  she  had  some  books  she  must 
show  him,  they  must  have  a  talk,  she  said,  warmly. 
He  did  not  quite  dare  ask  if  he  might  come,  too. 

She  had  been,  in  a  sense,  his  protegee  for  a  long  time. 
Now  other  people  were  being  nice  to  her,  were  they? 
The  Rutgers,  and  the  Montgomerys,  and  Aunt  Bessy! 
Confusedly,  he  resented  their  patronage.  And  even 
while  he  bid,  and  played,  and  made  the  cards,  he  was 
thinking,  with  a  little  soreness,  of  her  breezy  indifference 
to  him  to-night.  Why,  he  had  been — she  had  said  it 
herself — her  truest  friend! 

A  few  minutes  after  she  left,  old  Doctor  Mineau  also 
went  away;  Stephen  could  have  laughed  at  himself 
for  the  fleeting,  wretched  suspicion  that  the  surgeon 
was  going  down  to  Kingsgreen  Square — she  might  give 
him  coffee,  he  would  have  the  deep  chair  Stephen  usually 
took,  they  would  talk.  He  seemed  to  see  Lucretia, 
in  her  black  lace,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  locking 
those  beautiful  white  hands  in  a  fashion,  infinitely  re- 
poseful, that  she  had,  and  watching  her  guest  with  her 
appreciative,  shining  amber  eyes. 

Fred  did  not  come  back,  either.  Funny  thing,  if  Fred 
was  sharing  that  felicitous  hour  in  Lucretia's  sitting- 
room — she  had  said  that  "Fred  would  not  ring" 


142  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Give  him  time!"  he  heard  Mimi  say,  amusedly. 
"Is  it  so  hard,  Steve?" 

The  room  swam  into  place  about  him:  Mrs.  Sto- 
ver's big  pleasant  room,  with  the  windows  wide  open 
on  the  brick  terrace,  and  the  awnings  outside  be- 
ginning to  flap  in  the  blessed  breeze  that  was  following 
a  burning  day.  The  lights  settled  into  place,  and  he 
saw  the  bare  shoulders  and  ruffled  gowns,  the  card- 
tables,  Grace  looking  at  him  in  patient  exasperation, 
Mimi  blinking  her  gipsy  eyes. 

"Stevie,  were  you  going  to  sleep?" 

"No — I  beg  everybody's  pardon!  Are  you  all 
waiting  for  me?  Let's  see — you  bid  four  hearts, 
Tom.  I  think  we'll  double  that,  Mimi,  just  to  show 
these  people  that  we  are  not  pikers!" 

"Content!"  sang  Mimi.  And  as  she  reviewed  her 
cards  with  a  quick  little  spreading  movement  of  her 
fingers,  the  big  diamond  that  had  been  Stephen's 
mother's  winked  in  the  light. 

He  took  her  home  at  midnight,  and  instead  of  driving 
the  car  to  the  garage,  made  a  swift  run  down  to  Kings- 
green  Square,  and  looked  up  at  the  rectory  windows. 

A  dim  light  was  still  burning  in  the  sitting-room, 
upstairs. 

The  next  morning  began  for  Stephen  a  time  of 
wretched  perplexity  and  uncertainty.  His  thoughts 
were  filled  with  Lucretia;  everything  in  life  that  did 
not  concern  her  was  blotted  out  of  his  consciousness. 
He  followed  her  throughout  her  day — now  she  was 
marketing,  now  writing,  now  talking  to  Hannah  over 
her  lonely  lunch.  Flower  shops  suggested  to  Stephen 
only  a  dozen  charming  fashions  in  which  he  might  send 
her  flowers,  his  quieter  moments  were  filled  with  long 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  143 

imaginary  conversations  in  which  he  and  she  discussed 
everything  that  interested  him.  A  passing  woman  in 
the  street,  whose  carriage  or  whose  hair  even  vaguely 
suggested  her,  brought  Stephen's  heart  to  fever-beat. 

He  went  to  tea,  and  she  was  exactly  as  charming 
and  simple,  and  lovely  to  look  upon,  as  he  had  remem- 
bered her.  She  was  going  to  the  Gunther  House, 
not  very  far  from  Farley's,  for  July  and  August,  and 
she  hoped  to  see  Mimi  at  the  cabin  on  Red  Pine  Moun- 
tain some  day.  She  rode  horseback  a  great  deal,  she 
said.  Stephen  loved  the  serenity  with  which  she  lived 
her  life,  apparently  indifferent  to  money — it  was  so  un- 
like the  usual  feminine  protesting  and  complaining. 

A  day  or  two  later  Hannah  told  him  that  Mrs. 
Lombard  had  gone  to  New  York,  to  be  gone  ten  days, 
or  two  weeks.  The  sitting-room  was  shaded,  and  in 
perfect  order;  there  were  no  roses  on  the  closed  piano, 
no  books  huddled  on  the  floor  beside  her  chair. 

He  walked  away  into  a  blankly  empty  and  glaring 
city  that  was  sweating  in  the  dirty  heat  of  the  square, 
gritty  and  moist.  Life  was  empty  before  him;  it  was 
half-past  four.  He  did  not  know  how  he  was  to  get 
through  the  hours  until  dinner  at  the  club;  to-morrow 
was  a  dreary  waste — all  the  to-morrows!  Books  were 
but  printed  words,  flowers  useless,  and  the  voices  of 
other  men  only  a  degree  less  irritating  than  those  of 
the  women  he  met. 

Hannah  had  said  that  Mrs.  Lombard  would  be  back 
upon  a  certain  Thursday  morning,  and  had  planned 
to  leave  for  the  mountains  on  Friday.  Obviously, 
then,  the  time  to  see  her  was  upon  Thursday  afternoon. 

Stephen  lived  for  that  time;  was  conscious  that  all 
his  heart  and  soul  had  centred  upon  it.  He  did  not 


144  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

analyze  the  feeling,  but  he  moved  steadily  toward  the 
hour  when  he  would  see  Lucretia  again. 

The  day  came,  wore  itself  slowly  away  to  blazing 
mid-afternoon — two  o'clock,  three  o'clock.  At  four 
Stephen  stopped  his  car  at  the  rectory,  with  a  fast- 
beating  heart. 

The  door  was  wide  open,  but  he  rang.  He  heard 
Hannah  say :  "  Maybe  that's  the  man  for  your  trunks ! " 

A  moment  later  he  was  in  the  sitting-room  doorway, 
and  Lucretia  said  "Stephen!" 

A  trunk  was  open  in  the  room,  and  small  articles 
in  general  had  been  neatly  stacked  on  mantel  and  tables. 
The  curtains  had  been  taken  down;  a  summer  wind 
ballooned  the  new  Italian  blinds  she  had  hung;  there 
was  a  light,  like  sunshine  through  deep  water,  quivering 
on  the  walls. 

Lucretia  wore  a  wide-sleeved  dimity  garment  over 
a  lacy  petticoat,  and  was  quite  frankly  in  negligee. 
Her  hair  was  most  scrupulously  dressed,  and  her  feet 
charming  in  white  stockings  and  low  shoes.  There  was 
a  narrow  satin  ribbon  threaded  through  the  delicate 
laces  of  the  petticoat,  and  another  ribbon,  of  the  same 
faint  pink,  in  a  tumbled  knot  at  her  breast,  held  the 
loose  dotted  garment  together.  The  sight  of  the  femi- 
nine daintiness,  in  this  breezy,  darkened  room,  went  to 
Stephen's  head  like  a  quick  wine. 

On  her  laughing,  confused  face  the  strange  glimmer- 
ing light  shone  like  a  golden  glow;  she  made  a  little  pro- 
testing exclamation,  and  then  gave  him  her  hand  across 
the  open  trunk.  Taken  unawares,  she  was  still  not 
in  the  least  at  a  loss,  and  despatched  Hannah  for  some- 
thing cool  to  drink,  promising  him  that  she  would  change 
her  dress  and  join  him  in  exactly  three  minutes. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  145 

As  she  passed  him,  Stephen  quite  simply  took  her 
into  his  arms,  and  after  an  instant's  quick  stiffening  of 
her  muscles,  and  a  frightened  upward  look  from  her 
amber  eyes,  she  suddenly  grew  limp  and  quiet,  her 
weight  resting  lightly  against  him,  her  heart  beating 
hard  against  his. 

He  kissed  her  blindly:  the  drooped  head,  the  smooth 
forehead,  the  bare  warm  neck.  And  after  a  dizzy 
moment  she  raised  her  face,  and  he  had  his  lips  against 
her  own. 

One  flame  ran  through  them  both,  melting  them 
together  in  a  blaze  of  feeling  that  swept  away  all  judg- 
ment, all  consciousness  of  their  surroundings.  Stephen 
bent  over  her,  his  hands  hurting  her  shoulders  where 
they  gripped  her;  she  shut  her  eyes,  her  head  fallen 
back  with  closed  eyes. 

"My  God!"  he  whispered,  over  and  over  again, 
"how  I  have  missed,  you — how  I  have  missed  you!" 

"Yes,  I  know !"  she  answered,  blindly,  and  in  a 

whisper.  And  she  freed  herself,  and  stood  away  from 
him,  still  clinging  tightly  to  one  of  his  hands,  and 
breathing  hard.  "I  know — but  wait  a  moment!" 

He  made  a  motion  to  take  her  in  his  arms  again, 
but  again  she  whispered,  "Wait  a  moment!"  and  they 
stood  still. 

"What  are  we  doing?"  Lucretia  said,  presently, 
in  a  slow,  bewildered  voice.  She  went  quietly  and 
coldly  to  her  chair,  and  dropped  into  it,  all  the  flame 
and  passion  burned  out  of  her. 

Stephen,  silent  and  aghast,  stood  at  the  mantel, 
looking  down  at  her  with  sombre  eyes.  The  hot  sum- 
mer wind  ballooned  at  the  dropped  blinds,  the  clocks 
struck  the  half-hour.  Outside,  in  the  heat,  a  group 


146  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

of  children  went  by,  with  a  chipping  sound  of  feet 
and  the  chatter  of  high  voices. 

Hannah  came  in,  with  clinking  glasses  on  a  tray; 
the  expressman  was  at  the  door;  Lucretia  escaped 
into  her  bedroom,  and  Stephen  gravely  conducted 
the  little  business  of  the  trunk. 

When  she  came  back,  it  was  wearing  the  plain  white 
linen  she  affected  in  hot  weather;  a  linen  as  transparent 
and  fine  as  a  handkerchief,  with  no  ornament  unless 
the  deep  hem  and  the  little  line  of  pearl  buttons  at  the 
slender  wrist  were  ornaments.  Stephen  saw  that  she  was 
pale,  and  that  her  manner  was  troubled  and  nervous; 
she  sat  down,  after  a  glance  at  the  closed  door  that  led 
to  Hannah's  region,  and  linked  her  hands  together  in 
her  lap,  and  looked  down  at  them  while  she  spoke. 

"I  am  sorry  that  happened,  Stephen — I  know  you 
are!  I  wish  that  we  had  foreseen  it — but  of  course 
one  doesn't  think!  One  doesn't  think." 

She  raised  the  knotted  fingers  to  her  lips  for  a  mo- 
ment, stared  blankly  across  them  into  space. 

"I  blame  myself,"  she  added,  talking  at  random, 
her  eyes  averted.  "You  and  I  must  not  run  the  risk 
in  future " 

"What  risk?"  Stephen  said,  harshly,  in  the  silence 
into  which  her  voice  sank  a  little  drearily. 

"The  risk  of  seeing  too  much  of  each  other.  The 
risk  of  hurting  Mimi— 

"You  do  not  suppose  that  I  could  marry  Mimi  now, 
Lucretia,  loving  you  ? "  Stephen  asked,  almost  sternly. 

Her  face  grew  white. 

"You  are  engaged  to  Mimi!"  she  whispered. 

For  answer  he  took  the  little  distance  between  them 
in  three  quick  steps,  and  knelt  down  beside  her  chair, 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  147 

and  put  his  arms  about  her  slender,  fragrant,  white- 
clad  figure,  feeling  every  fibre  of  his  being  respond  to 
the  ecstasy  of  holding  her  youth  and  beauty  at  last  in 
his  arms. 

"You  don't  think  I  could  do  that,  Lucretia?"  he 
asked,  seriously. 

The  amber  eyes  were  shining  close  to  his  own,  she 
had  laid  one  warm  brown  hand  against  his  shoulder, 
the  thin,  full  white  skirt  billowed  against  him. 

And  suddenly,  as  if  what  she  read  in  his  sober  face 
satisfied  her,  he  saw  her  smile,  a  radiant,  wonderful 
smile,  the  first  of  its  kind  that  he  had  ever  seen  upon 
her  face.  Close  upon  it  came  a  mist  of  tears,  her  lips 
trembled,  even  while  her  marvellous  eyes  were  laughing. 

Again  they  kissed  each  other,  but  this  time  there 
was  no  fire;  it  was  a  girl's  trusting,  ardent  kiss  that  she 
gave  him,  and  after  it  she  rested  her  shining  head 
contentedly  against  his  shoulder,  as  he  knelt,  tightening 
his  arm  about  her,  and  they  remained  so  for  a  long, 
long  time. 

"You  love  mc?J>  Stephen  said,  for  the  hundredth 
time.  She  moved  her  dreaming  eyes  slowly  to  his, 
dropped  her  head  on  his  shoulder  again. 

"I  do  love  you,"  she  answered,  in  her  velvet  voice. 

The  inexpressible  joy  of  hearing  it  made  quiet  no 
longer  possible  to  him.  He  straightened  up,  and 
framed  her  face  in  his  hands,  and  in  his  excitement  and 
exultation  could  have  shouted  and  danced  like  a  boy. 
She  herself  seemed  such  a  miracle  to  him,  that  she  had 
cast  a  miraculous  glow  even  upon  himself,  and  the 
homeliest  and  dullest  moment  of  his  life. 

To  have  this  glowing  radiant  woman,  this  woman 
that  all  men  admired,  who  might  have  drawn  any 


148  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

one  in  the  world  to  her  feet,  sitting  here  in  the  curve  of 
his  arm,  her  spreading  white  ruffles  and  slender 
white  ankles,  golden-brown  masses  of  hair  and  golden- 
brown  eyes,  all  confessedly  his — all  a  part  of  the  love 
she  admittedly  gave  him  in  return  for  his  adoration, 
was  to  have  the  most  blinding,  dazing,  thrilling  emo- 
tion of  his  life. 

"But  Lucretia — when   did   it  begin?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!  I  don't  think  I  ever  really 
faced  it  until  to-day!  I  didn't  want  you  to  like  me, 
you  know!" 

"Then  God  help  the  man  you  do  want,  that's  all!" 

"I  knew  you  liked  me,  Steve,  I  don't  mean  that! 
But — what  is  it?" 

"Nothing.     Go  on.     I  didn't  say  anything!" 

"No;  but  you  laughed — a  little." 

"Lucretia,  you  mustn't  look  at  me  that  way!  It 
distracts  me." 

"Yes,  but  why  did  you  laugh?" 

"Because  I  love  so  to  have  you  call  me  Steve,  my 
darling!" 

An  interval  of  murmuring.     Then  Lucretia  said : 

"We  do  not  get  very  far  in  this  conversation!" 

"Because  I  am  too  happy  to  think.  I  can't  believe 
it  yet — that  you  see  anything  to  care  for  in  me!" 

"Other  women  have!"  she  teased  him.  But  the 
smile  quickly  faded;  the  words  evoked  the  thought  of 
Mimi.  "Stephen,  what  of  Mimi?"  she  asked. 

His  face  darkened  as  hers  had  done,  but  he  answered 
readily: 

"I  am  sorry  about  Mimi — she  is  a  dear,  generous 
girl,  and  I  suppose  the  natural  thing  was  to  fall  in  love 
with  her  guardian " 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  149 

"Oh,  no,  Steve,  it  was  not  that!"  the  woman  pro- 
tested, quickly. 

"No,  perhaps  not.  Poor  Mimi!  I  am  sorry!  I 
am  extremely  sorry.  I  wish — a  few  months  ago 

"But  there  is  no  use  of  thinking  of  that  now,"  he 
interrupted  himself,  sensibly.  "The  problem  is  what 
to  do  now.  It  would  be  monstrous  to  marry  Mimi — 
in  fact,  it  would  be  impossible!  So  the  only  question 
is  how  to  tell  Mimi,  and  when." 

She  was  watching  him  expectantly. 

"No  date  is  set  for  your  marriage?" 

"Early  winter." 

"Early  winter.  I  am  glad  it  was  not  set.  I  am 
sorry,"  said  Lucretia,  with  sudden  pain  in  her  voice, 
"bitterly  sorry,  for  the  whole  thing!  Let  us  be  sensi- 
ble for  a  moment.  Could  we — could  we  go  back,  and 
be  as  if  this  had  never  been?" 

"No;  we  could  not,"  he  said,  definitely. 

"Stephen,  think.  She  loves  you,  and  she  trusts 
you,  and  everyone  is  so  delighted  with " 

"Don't  talk  nonsense!" 

Lucretia  was  conscious  of  loving  his  reproof,  loving 
his  very  anger. 

"Is  it  nonsense?"  she  persisted.  "You  are  thirty, 
I  am  twenty-eight.  We  have  known  what  hardship 
and  self-denial  are — we  could  steel  ourselves  to  bear 
it.  I  could  go  away!" 

"You  are  talking  to  hear  yourself  talk,"  Stephen 
said.  "If  you  died  to-morrow,  which  God  forbid,  I 
would  never  look  at  another  woman  in  all  my  life!" 

Her  exultant  laugh  answered  him;  she  linked  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  and  they  kissed  each  other. 

"It  has  happened    before,  a  broken    engagement," 


150  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

Stephen  said,  presently.  "One  thinks  nothing  at  all 
of  it  in  someone  else.  I  shall  see  Mimi  this  week-end 
— Marjorie  is  up  in  the  mountains  with  her,  they  will 
talk  it  all  over,  but  by  the  time  she  comes  back  to  town, 
it  will  be  an  old  story!" 

"Stephen,  it  will  go  deeper  than  that!" 

"It  will  not  go  so  deep  as  an  unhappy  marriage, 
Lucretia." 

"No-o,"  she  hesitated.  "But  the — the  new  house, 
and  everything!"  she  mused,  her  cheek  still  touching 
his,  but  her  troubled  eyes  looking  into  space. 

"Sweetheart,  isn't  it  infinitely  less  tragic  than  to 
have  her  find  out,  after  we  were  married,  that  you 
were  in  the  world?" 

"You  know,  you  must  let  the  world  think  that 
Mimi  broke  the  engagement,"  Lucretia  suggested,  after 
a  dreaming  interval. 

"Certainly.     I  thought  of  that!" 

"And,  Stephen — after  all,  Allen  has  been  dead  only 
five  months !  We  must  keep  the  whole  thing  a  secret 
until  after  the  New  Year,  at  least." 

"Inasmuch  as  I  met  you  the  very  night  he  died,  I 
feel  my  conscience  perfectly  clear  on  that  score!" 
he  answered,  kissing  the  creamy  brown  forehead  just 
where  the  wave  of  bright  hair  sprang  richly  and  firmly 
upward  toward  the  tawny  coil. 

"If  you  had  loved  Mimi  more  than  me,"  Lucretia 
said,  thoughtfully,  "I  could  have  done  nothing,"  she 
smiled,  "but  cry  myself  to  sleep,  and  try  to  reconcile 
myself  to  the  thought  that  life  and  happiness  and  love 
were  not  coming  my  way!  Instead,  Mimi  must  do  that, 
poor  Mimi!" 

"Did  you   ever  cry  yourself  to   sleep,   Lucretia?" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  151 

"Oh,  have  I  not?  A  hundred  times!"  She  was 
resting  quietly  against  him  again;  she  told  him  of  her 
childhood,  of  the  erratic,  unreasonable  mother  who 
ran  away  from  family  surveillance  and  home  respon- 
sibilities, of  drifting  through  French  seaside  resorts 
and  Italian  pensions,  of  Scotland  in  murky  winters, 
and  of  a  thousand  financial  makeshifts  and  subterfuges. 

She  brought  him  some  photographs  of  little  Lu- 
cretia  Bannister,  a  sober  handsome  child  in  the  pleats 
and  lace  collars  of  the  juvenile  'nineties,  with  a  leonine 
splendid  head  of  fair  hair,  an  older  Lucretia  in  her 
first  long  frock  and  a  colossal  hat,  balancing  a  parasol 
upon  English  sands,  and  a  third  of  young  Lady  Lom- 
bard, sternly  beautiful  in  low-cut  satin,  with  her  be- 
trayed girl's  eyes  looking  grave  above  the  circle  of 
pearls  about  her  throat. 

And  Stephen's  happiness,  as  with  her  own  strange 
mixture  of  simplicity  and  reserve  she  admitted  him 
into  her  confidences,  was  the  most  poignant  he  had 
ever  known.  The  dismantled  room  was  paradise, 
the  burning  summer  afternoon  sent  drifts  of  immortal 
perfume  through  the  opened  windows. 

After  awhile  they  went  to  market,  and  that  was 
ecstasy,  too.  And  then  Hannah  gave  them  iced  coffee 
and  chops  and  a  salad,  and  still  the  enchantment 
lasted  and  deepened,  until  every  glance  of  the  topaz 
eyes,  and  every  turn  of  the  slender  wrist  in  the  fine 
linen  and  tiny  pearl  buttons,  was  magic. 

Stephen  was  expected  at  an  important  meeting  at 
nine;  she  made  him  go.  They  were  at  table,  they  had 
not  yet  needed  lights. 

"Why,  that  would  be  a  splendid  beginning  of  our 
— our  friendship,"  she  reproached  him,  "to  have 


152  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

you  missing  your  appointments,  and  slighting  your 
work!"  She  hesitated,  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"Stephen,  if — if  the  next  few  months  are  what  we  have 
been  planning,  if  Mimi  frees  you,  and  the  first  buzzing 
about  the  matter  dies  down," she  said,  slowly,  "mightn't 
we  perhaps  go  away  from  Sanbridge — begin  some- 
where else?" 

"Anywhere!"  he  answered  contentedly. 

"You  could  move  your  work?"  she  asked. 

"Anywhere!"  he  said  again.  "If  there  was  reason," 
he  added,  with  a  faintly  surprised  air. 

"I  was  thinking,"  she  pursued,  "that  people  will 
blame  us — Mimi  is  a  great  favorite,  you  know,  and 
everybody  knew  her  people  here.  It  may  hurt  you 
politically,  Steve.  They  talk  of  you  for  Senator, 
don't  they?" 

"They  talk  of  a  hundred  men  for  Senator,  as  far  as 
that  goes!"  he  answered,  indifferently,  his  ardent  eyes 
only  for  her  nearness  and  her  beauty.  "What  makes 
you  think  your  charms  wouldn't  appeal  to  a  constitu- 
ency as  quickly  as  Mimi's?" 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  that!"  She  was  thinking  of  the 
Warren  fortune,  as  to  his  secret  shame  he  was  thinking, 
too.  The  first  feeling  of  real  hostility  that  he  had  ever 
felt  toward  Mimi  assailed  him  now,  driving  to  his 
meeting,  and  assuring  his  thoughts  that  no  woman's 
money — and  no  woman's  house — would  help  him  with 
his  career. 

The  thought  of  the  beauty,  the  brilliance,  and  the 
charm  of  the  woman  who  would  help  him  warmed  his 
pulses.  He  was  to  have  breakfast  with  her  at  nine 
o'clock,  and  to  be  with  her  every  minute  of  the  time 
until  her  train  left  at  eleven  o'clock  for  Farley's. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LATE  at  night  Fred  joined  Stephen  in  his  room  in  the 
almost  deserted  Curran  mansion;  the  brothers  had 
opened  their  big  uncurtained  windows  into  the  rustling 
maple  leaves,  a  hot  breeze  was  moving,  and  far  to  the 
north  the  play  of  electric  flashes  and  the  sullen  ham- 
mering of  thunder  promised  a  long-awaited  break  in 
the  weather. 

Fred,  his  thin  silk  shirt  sticking  to  his  splendid 
big  body  with  perspiration,  and  his  dark  crest  of  hair 
disordered,  lay  rather  than  sat  in  a  wicker  chaise- 
longue,  cigarette-smoke  circling  up  from  his  languidly 
drooped  long  hand.  Stephen  sat  on  the  broad  window 
ledge,  also  smoking,  and  looking  down  through  the 
foliage  where  the  street  lights  picked  it  out  in  golden 
relief,  with  a  dreaming,  ecstatic  expression  in  his  keen 
gray  eyes.  Near  to  each  brother  was  a  tall  glass  half 
filled  with  liquid  and  ice;  Stephen  had  a  temperate 
liking  for  iced  tea  at  the  close  of  a  long  hot  day; 
Fred  had  strengthened  his  plain  ginger  ale  with  a 
little  of  the  Judge's  treasured  rye. 

"Saw  Mrs.  Lombard  to-night!"  Fred  yawned.  "I 
ran  in  there  about  nine  o'clock — that  old  French 
geezer  was  there,  Doctor  Mineau.  He  wants  her  to 
translate  a  book  of  poems  he  has  written;  wouldn't 
you  know  an  old  fellow  like  that  would  write  poetry!" 

Stephen  came  back  from  his  moonlighted  tree-tops 
as  if  by  electric  shock.  The  very  mention  of  Lucretia 

153 


154  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

— his  Lucretia — thrilled  him  with  exquisite  and  poig- 
nant emotion. 

Jealousy  of  Fred  and  Doctor  Mineau  seized  him; 
delicious  and  absurd  jealousy.  They  had  heard  the 
fruit-like  voice,  watched  the  young  splendid  figure  in  the 
full,  transparent  white,  looked  into  the  eyes  with  their 
delicate  gleam  and  shine  of  topaz. 

"I  was  there  to-day,"  he  said,  with  a  little  conscious 
clearing  of  his  throat. 

"She  said  you  were!  She's  a  beauty,  isn't  she, 
Steve?" 

The  arc  of  Stephen's  cigarette  flew  through  the  outer 
darkness. 

"Yes.     She's  beautiful,"  he  answered  briefly. 

"Goes  to  Farley's  to-morrow,"  Fred  pursued,  after  a 
long  drink.  "I  thought  some  day,  when  we're  at 
Red  Pine  Mountain,  we  might  all  drive  over  there,  and 
see  her!" 

Stephen  did  not  answer;  mention  of  the  cabin  made 
him  think  of  Mimi. 

"She's  fascinating,  in  a  way,  Lucretia  Lombard 
is,"  Fred  mused.  "  I'll  bet  she'll  have  a  lot  of  attention, 
now  that's  she's  free.  Funny  thing,  the  way  that  old 
fellow  Lombard  got  out  from  under!" 

"You — you  don't  admire  her,  I  suppose,  Fred?" 
Stephen  asked,  a  little  awkwardly. 

"I  like  her.  Sure,  I  think  she's  a  pippin,"  Fred 
answered,  without  enthusiasm.  "She's  interesting — 
did  she  ever  show  you  those  pictures  of  Scotland— 
when  they  were  there?  She  used  to  wear  an  awfully 
cute-looking  outfit,  in  some  dance  or  bazaar  they  had. 
And  she  has  a  kid  picture  of  herself  in  one  of  those  big 
hats  the  girls  used  to  wear  about  ten  years  ago- !" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  155 

The  pang  of  jealousy  that  Stephen  felt  now  had 
nothing  absurd  or  delicious  in  it;  it  was  sharp  pain, 
an  agony  of  hurt  and  shame.  He  had  supposed  him- 
self the  privileged  one,  to  see  these  glimpses  of  the  old 
Lucretia.  But  it  appeared  that  even  Fred,  who 
casually  denied  anything  like  real  admiration  for  her, 
had  had  the  same  honor.  And  probably  a  thousand 
more,  Stephen  said  to  himself  with  a  sick  heart. 

His  old  suspicion  of  her  came  back;  she  was  one  of 
those  golden-headed  enchantresses  who  bewitched  all 
men  into  ridiculous  and  undignified  extremes.  This 
very  evening,  after  that  most  marvellous  and  electrified 
afternoon,  she  had  been  laughing  and  talking  with 
two.  other  men — 

"If  I  could  afford  it,  I'd  marry  Marjorie,"  Fred  said, 
yawning. 

"What — I  beg  pardon,  but  what  did  you  say?" 
Stephen  came  out  of  a  bitter  musing,  aware  that  his 
brother  had  spoken. 

"Said  that  Marjorie  is  my  choice — if  Bert  Lucas 
doesn't  get  her!" 

"You  could  afford  to  marry,  Fred,"  Stephen  offered, 
slowly.  He  was  longing  for  Fred's  sympathy.  Per- 
haps, if  Fred  was  in  love,  he  might  more  freely  claim  it. 

Suddenly  he  remembered  Mimi's  hint  that  Fred 
had  been  trying  to  borrow  money,  and  he  wondered 
if  the  thought  of  marriage  had  been  a  possible  spur. 

"Marjorie  will  have  something,"  he  suggested,  a 
little  differently. 

"I  don't  want  to  marry  any  one!"  Fred  said,  lazily. 
Yet  he  was  scowling,  and  Stephen  knew  that  he  had 
somehow  missed  his  confidence. 

He  was  hardly  conscious  of  the  fact  that  presently 


156  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

Fred  turned  in.  At  about  two  o'clock  he  roused  him- 
self from  his  window-sill  revery  and  went  to  bed  in  a  sort 
of  waking  dream.  The  thunderstorm  was  nearer,  the 
air  insufferably  thick  and  warm,  the  window  curtains 
streamed  suddenly  into  the  room. 

Stephen  had  to  get  up,  to  lower  sashes  all  over  the 
upper  floor.  The  first  spatter  of  big  warm  drops  found 
him  still  wide-awake.  Through  the  hour  when  wind 
and  rain  raged  over  the  old  house,  and  over  the  city, 
he  lay  wakeful,  listening  to  the  splitting  crackle  of  the 
thunder,  blinking  when  the  blue  lightning  made  the 
whole  room  tip  and  stagger. 

It  was  over.  He  could  open  the  windows  again, 
breathe  deep  of  the  rain-washed,  trembling  air,  look 
out  upon  the  beaten  tops  of  the  elms  far  toward  the 
south,  where  mutinous  muttering  and  glimmering 
showed  the  track  of  the  storm.  He  thought  of  Kings- 
green  Square,  and  of  Lucretia  lying  asleep,  in  this 
heavenly  rush  of  coolness  and  sweetness,  with  her 
tawny  hair  braided,  and  her  dreams  all  for  him. 

The  clock  in  the  city  hall  chimed  three.  Stephen  said 
to  himself  that  in  only  six  hours — swift  hours,  happily — 
he  would  see  her  again! 


CHAPTER  XVII 

STEPHEN  and  Lucretia  breakfasted  together,  hehelped 
her  with  last  duties,  admitted  this  morning  into  the 
bare,  white,  conventual  bedroom  that  was  dismantled 
for  the  summer.  Lucretia,  charming  in  a  white  linen 
suit  and  a  small  white  hat,  directed  and  helped  him. 
She  was  businesslike  about  keys,  about  arrangements 
for  telephone  and  milkman  and  paper-boy.  But  he  felt 
all  the  time  that  their  newly  confessed  feeling  for  each 
other  trembled  behind  the  mask  of  efficiency  and  com- 
posure. She  was  as  conscious  of  him  as  he  of  her,  her 
averted  eyes,  and  the  little  unmanageable  shake  in  her 
voice  betrayed  her  over  and  over  again. 

They  walked  in  Kingsgreen  Square,  and  it  was 
irradiated  with  the  light  that  never  was  on  land  or 
sea.  Stephen  bought  her  daisies  and  magazines; 
it  was  wonderful  to  him  to  have  charge  of  her  light 
coat  and  her  hand-bag.  He  saw  her  into  the  chair- 
car,  pulled  a  shade,  packed  her  impedimenta  away  in 
a  rack,  and  left  her  in  the  reflected  shine  of  the  big 
shady  window,  smiling  him  a  grateful  good-bye. 

And  immediately  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  as 
well  go  to  Farley's  with  her;  Farley's  was  on  the  way 
to  Red  Pine  Mountain,  and  he  was  expected  by  Mimi 
and  his  aunt  on  Saturday — the  next  day. 

It  was  only  a  matter  of  five  minutes  of  telephoning, 
before  he  came  back  again  into  the  pleasantly  shaded 
chair-car,  and  established  himself  in  the  chair  next 

157 


158  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

to  her  own.  The  sense  of  surprise  and  adventure 
kept  them  smiling  while  the  train  drew  through  the 
hot,  cluttered  streets  of  the  poorer  districts,  out  be- 
tween factories  and  warehouses,  and  so  to  suburban 
houses  with  gardens,  and  corner  groceries  on  unpaved 
streets. 

Together  they  watched  all  this  change  to  real  country 
green,  together  lunched  at  a  little  white  table  in  the 
dining-car  as  it  moved  under  the  shadow  of  the  big 
mountains.  And  there  seemed  to  be  no  end  and  no 
beginning  to  the  talk  that  rose  up  like  a  bubbling 
spring,  flowing  on  and  on  through  the  magic  two  hours 
that  seemed  less  than  one.  . 

At  Farley's  they  had  fifteen  minutes  for  good-byes 
in  the  stream  of  afternoon  sunshine  that  poured  over 
the  mountain.  The  air,  after  the  heat  of  the  train, 
was  deliciously  fresh  and  pungent;  Lucretia's  face, 
a  little  pale  and  jaded,  regained  its  mysterious  tawny 
bloom  again,  and  she  breathed  deep  breaths  of  the 
heavenly  forest  sweetness. 

Stephen  put  her  luggage  into  the  white  surrey 
marked  "Gunther's,"  longing  to  go  with  her  to  the  old- 
fashioned  house  that  was  three  or  four  miles  up  in  the 
hills,  longing  for  the  right  to  be  alone  with  her,  away 
from  all  other  eyes,  free  to  wander  in  the  meadows  and 
climb  up  through  the  pines,  fishing,  swimming,  sharing 
the  country  meals  of  old  Ma  Gunther's  famous  table, 
talking,  talking,  talking. 

"When  do  I  see  you  again,  Steve?" 

"I'll  write— I'll  manage  it!" 

"You'll  have  your  talk  with  Mimi  first?" 

His  face  grew  grave. 

"Immediately!" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Can  you  believe  that  we  found  this  out  only  yes- 
terday, Steve?" 

"I  think  I  knew  it  always,"  he  answered,  "since 
George  and  Grace  had  their  quarrel  in  the  rose  arbor!" 

She  seemed  to  take  the  light  of  the  day  with  her;  he 
got  back  into  the  train,  for  the  six-mile  run  to  Warren's 
Mills,  with  a  dreary  sense  that  life  was  dull  and  stale. 
There  was  nothing  ahead,  until  the  next  meeting  with 
her,  and  he  could  not  foresee  it  clearly. 

He  picked  up  a  magazine,  glanced  at  the  empty 
chair  where  she  had  sat  so  recently,  and  sighed  with 
utter  distaste.  When  she  was  with  him,  when  he  could 
watch  the  movement  of  her  lips,  the  clean,  firm  line 
of  chin,  the  shining  eyes  under  her  bright  hair,  every- 
thing seemed  simple  and  easy.  But  now  that  he  was 
alone,  he  began  to  wonder  how  he  could  begin  his  talk 
with  Mimi 

There  was  Aunt  Bessy  to  think  of,  and  Uncle  Sam. 
They  would  both  be  heart-broken.  His  engagement 
was  the  dream  of  many  years  come  true. 

Politically,  too.  His  party  had  been  pointedly 
flattering  of  late.  Was  the  rich  wife  in  the  back- 
ground of  this  ?  He  knew  she  was.  Not  in  any  mere 
mercenary  sense,  but  as  the  daughter  of  a  prominent 
old  resident  of  Sanbridge,  the  donor  of  the  public 
library  site  and  the  green  acre  of  West  City  Park,  and 
as  being  herself  the  sort  of  wife  who  would  give  a  rising 
young  statesman  a  dignified  home,  a  proper  back- 
ground of  social  standing  and  hospitality. 

Stephen  thought  ©f  all  this  as  the  train  made  its 
final  stop  at  Warren's  Mills,  and  as  he  engaged  a  livery 
hack  upon  which  to  ride  up  to  the  cabin.  Ordinarily 
he  would  have  driven  straight  from  Sanbridge  in  his 


160  LUCEETIA  LOMBARD 

car,  but  to-day  was  out  of  the  ordinary.     He  would 
take  them  all  by  surprise. 

He  reflected  that  some  other  way  would  have  been 
wiser;  wiser  to  write  Mimi  that  he  had  something  im- 
portant to  say.  Or  perhaps  write  her  the  whole 
story,  omitting  Lucretia's  name,  of  course. 

Up — up — up,  wound  the  wooded  road,  sometimes 
passing  a  cabin  perched  high  in  the  pines,  but  for  the 
most  part  a  deserted  brown  shelf  rising  through  the 
miles  and  miles  of  summery  greenness.  Stephen 
knew  every  inch  of  it;  he  and  Fred  had  hunted  and 
camped  in  these  woods  every  summer  of  their  lives. 
The  dead  oak;  how  the  weary,  dusty  children  of 
twenty  years  ago  had  wriggled  and  squirmed  in  the 
surrey,  as  they  watched  for  that  landmark!  That 
proved  them  near  the  end  of  the  hot  day's  trip,  in  an- 
other half  hour  they  would  be  in  old  clothes,  streaming 
up  through  the  orchard,  leaning  over  the  brook,  half-mad 
with  the  excitement  and  ecstasy  of  getting  into  the 
country  again!  Cookies — peaches — old  Matea's  saucer 
pies — forgotten  fishing-rods  and  bathing-suits! 

And  even  in  those  remembered  days,  squarely 
built,  responsible,  gentle  little  "old  Steve,"  had  been 
always  the  guardian  of  wild  and  reckless  "Freddy," 
and  of  the  little  gipsy  Mimi  of  the  ginghams  and  straw 
hats.  When  Stephen  was  twelve  years  old,  Fred  was 
eight,  and  Mimi  only  five. 

"What's  your  name — no,  but  tell  me  your  name — 
shut  up,  Freddy,  while  the  baby  tells  me  her  name! 
G'wan,  tell  me  your  name — tell  Teevy  your  name!" 
He  would  kneel,  perhaps  in  the  pattern  of  the  sun- 
light through  the  big  pale  grape  leaves,  with  the  bash- 
ful, laughing  Mimi  before  him. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  161 

"Go  on — what's  your  name!  Take  that  nasty 
sunbonnet  string  out  of  your  mouth,  and  tell  me  your 
name!" 

The  dark  eyes  would  glint  up  through  the  baby's 
lashes. 

"Ma'y  Yo'andy  Wa'wen!"  Mimi  would  squeak,  in 
her  little  treble. 

It  always  made  him  laugh,  delighted  with  her  mis- 
pronunciation. 

"That's  a  darling!  That's  a  good,  good  baby!" 
The  freckled,  clumsy  little  boy  would  catch  her  up  in 
his  arms,  frightening  and  enchanting  her,  as  a  reward. 

And  now  he  and  that  Mary  Yolande — that  same 
little  grinning  girl  in  the  sunbonnet,  were  man  and 
woman,  and  had  the  plan  of  their  marriage  been  ful- 
filled, they  would  still  be  coming  up  here,  every  summer, 
perhaps  some  day  with  another  mischievous  Jittle 
Mimi,  and  clumsy  adoring  Stephen 

Mimi  loved  children,  and  would  make  a  wise  little 
mother 

A  sudden  thrill  shook  him,  his  heart  stood  still, 
raced  for  a  few  lightning  seconds,  seemed  to  turn  over, 
with  an  odd,  frightening,  and  yet  wonderful  sensation. 
Unbidden  had  come  the  thought  of  Lucretia,  with  her 
tawny  braid  falling  over  one  shoulder,  and  a  child 
in  her  arms. 

To  possess  her,  to  have  that  miracle  come  to  com- 
plete their  love  and  their  happiness!  Stephen  looked 
off  across  a  canyon  that  was  filling  with  the  first  pur- 
ple light  of  the  waning  afternoon,  a  purple  shot  and 
flooded  with  hot  gold.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
parenthood  seemed  to  him  the  crowning  pride  and 
achievement  of  life. 


162  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

He  thought  of  the  men  he  knew;  their  wives  and 
children.  And  he  thought  of  himself  looking  at  Lu- 
cretia,  the  beautiful,  mysterious,  amber-eyed  Lucretia, 
newly  lovely,  and  with  the  aura  of  motherhood  about 
her,  and  of  the  child  of  whom  he  might  say  "my  son." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"STEPHEN  Winship /" 

It  was  Mimi  herself,  answering  his  call  at  the  open 
door  of  the  cabin,  materializing  suddenly  from  the 
dimness  within,  and  quite  simply  putting  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  and  kissing  him  on  the  cheek. 

"Aunt  Bessy!"  she  called.  "Marjorie!  Look  who's 
here!  Steve — but  sit  down  there,  and  we'll  get  you 
some  lemonade — Steve,  you  old  darling!  We  were 
going  to  meet  you  on  the  afternoon  train  to-morrow. 
And  can  you  stay  until  Sunday  night?  Oh,  goody!" 

She  was  looking  very  pretty  in  the  khaki  knicker- 
bockers and  loose  white  blouse,  with  leggings  and  sturdy 
brown  shoes  that  were  a  sort  of  uniform  for  Marjorie 
and  herself  in  the  mountains.  Mimi  was  always 
charming  at  the  cabin,  happy  and  at  her  ease,  full  of 
gaiety  and  hospitality. 

And  Stephen  found  the  cabin  itself  delightful  to- 
night; there  was  a  stillness  and  bigness  about  the  en- 
circling woods,  a  piny  fragrance  in  the  air,  a  deep  and 
soothing  silence  everywhere.  The  little  house,  smelling 
so  pleasantly  of  wood,  the  delicious  cool  supper  served 
on  the  side  porch,  the  walk  he  and  Mimi  and  Marjorie 
took,  inspecting  the  tennis-court  and  the  creek,  the 
fruit-trees  and  spring-house,  were  so  many  sources  of 
satisfaction.  The  sun  went  down,  the  light  faded  into 
wonderful  blue  and  amethyst,  long  before  twilight  was 

163 


164  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

gone,  the  young  moon  rose  into  the  still-lighted  sky, 
and  hung  over  the  rising  pyramids  of  the  pines. 

Stephen  was  no  moral  coward,  but  as  the  evening 
progressed,  with  a  hundred  shy  evidences  of  affection 
from  Mimi,  a  hundred  allusions  to  the  wedding  from 
Marjorie  and  Ted,  a  hundred  casual  hints  from  the  Judge 
as  to  what  might  be  expected  from  the  party  when  the 
primaries  came  about  next  spring,  he  felt  his  resolution 
change  rather  than  falter. 

Could  he  disrupt  all  this  happiness  and  confidence? 
And  if  he  could,  should  he  do  so?  What  was  his  de- 
votion to  Lucretia,  after  all,  but  a  sudden  moment 
of  selfishness,  far,  far  more  easily  wiped  away  than 
this  established  and  dear  old  order  of  things,  to  which 
life  had  bound  him  as  it  had  bound  all  this  loved  group. 

The  tide  came  back.  He  loved  Mimi,  loved  them 
all — loved  the  thought  of  other  summers  here,  of  making 
them  all  pleased  and  happy  and  secure  in  their  various 
ways!  The  Keystone  Road  house  would  be  their 
home,  and  Aunt  Bessy  and  Uncle  Sam  would  come 
to  Christmas  dinner,  and  there  would  be  a  chance 
perhaps  to  bring  Fred  and  Marjorie  together.  Far 
wiser  to  pursue  this  allotted  scheme  of  things  than  to 
find  himself,  perhaps  in  some  Western  city,  beginning 
his  career  all  over  again,  looking  at  five-  or  six-room 
apartments  with  Lucretia— 

But  again  the  thought  of  her  betrayed  him,  and  his 
heart  stood  still,  raced — performed  that  extraordinary 
and  thrilling  revolution.  House-hunting  with  Lucretia 
— to  share  a  dining-room  and  a  sitting-room,  to  plan 
Sundays  together,  to  introduce  the  beauty  and  radiance 
of  her  as  "my  wife!" 

He  put  the  thought  away.     His  final  reflection  was 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  165 

that  a  gentleman  did  not  withdraw  his  offer  of  marriage 
with  a  lady,  whatever  the  circumstances.  Ted  Rutger 
was  extremely  gallant  with  Mimi,  and  Fred,  who  came 
up  the  next  day,  overwhelmed  her  with  affectionate 
attentions;  Stephen  had  a  mad  moment  of  hoping 
that  Mimi  herself  might  waver.  How  easy  he  would 
make  it  for  her! 

But  there  was  no  wavering  for  Mimi,  and  whenever 
they  were  alone  together  she  showed  him  something 
of  her  devotion  and  loyalty,  and  he  found  himself  awk- 
ward and  uncomfortable  in  the  role  of  lover. 

It  was  not  hard  to  embrace  her,  it  was  indeed  per- 
fectly natural  to  kiss  her.  But  to  put  fire  into  these 
things,  and  to  sustain  the  little  murmur  of  nothing 
at  all  that  is  the  lover's  joy,  was  beyond  his  power. 
He  interested  himself  in  whatever  she  said,  smiled, 
answered  intelligently  and  fully,  but  he  knew  himself 
that  there  was  in  these  talks  nothing  of  the  mono- 
syllables, the  undertones,  the  significant  glances,  the 
little  discoveries  and  surprises,  confessions  and  questions, 
that  had  made  those  hours  in  the  train  with  Lucretia 
so  exquisite  to  remember. 

Phrases  of  hers  came  back  to  him,  detached  phrases 
said  in  that  low,  amused  voice  of  hers:  "Have  you 
read  everything,  Stephen?  If  you  are  very  good  I  will 
sing  for  you  some  day!  You  must  have  been  a  serious 
little  adorable  freckled  goose  of  a  boy  when  you  were 
seven!" 

And  she  had  dropped  that  incredibly  smooth  brown 
hand  of  hers  between  their  chairs,  so  that  his  own 
hand  could  find  it,  and  hold  it,  for  some  ten  wonderful 
minutes. 

Perhaps    love    for    Mimi — the    passionate    love    for 


166  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

which  the  girl  was  so  innocently  hungering — would 
come  after  they  were  married  ?  He  hoped,  he  tried  to 
assure  himself,  that  it  would! 

On  Sunday  afternoon,  in  the  late  quiet  hours,  when 
the  effect  of  the  hot  day  and  of  the  too-heavy  midday 
dinner  had  somewhat  dissipated,  he  said  his  good-byes 
for  another  week.  Mimi  offered  to  walk  with  him  on 
his  way  to  the  train  to  the  lower  gate,  above  the  now- 
deserted  mill,  where  they  had  dammed  the  creek  into 
a  swimming-hole. 

They  led  Stephen's  horse,  sauntered  away  from  the 
house  after  Stephen's  farewells,  into  the  dimness  and 
sweetness  of  the  woods. 

"Steve,"  Mimi  said,  suddenly,  in  a  not  quite  natural 
voice,  "there  was  something  I  wanted  to  speak  about. 
I  was  wondering  if  it  would  be  better  for  you  if  we  de- 
layed the  formal  announcement  of  our  engagement  a 
little,  made  it  some  time  this  winter,  say?" 

It  was  said — and  she  had  not  broken  down.  She 
walked  along  slowly  beside  him,  her  heart  like  lead, 
her  throat  thick. 

This  was  his  opportunity.  But  his  sense  of  her 
generosity — considering  all  it  meant  to  her! — was  so 
keen,  and  his  pity  for  her  suffering  so  deep,  that  he  could 
not  take  advantage  of  it. 

"Mimi,  why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Because,"  she  said,  steadily,  "I  think  perhaps  we 
made  a  mistake!" 

"After  all  these  years?"  Stephen  hated  himself 
for  his  weakness,  but  he  could  not  see  her  suffer  so! 

"What  do  they  count!"  she  said,  impatiently.  And 
as  if  the  little  burst  of  anger  spurred  her  to  self-control, 
stopped  in  the  road,  and  faced  him  bravely.  "Isn't 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  167 

it  better  to  end  it  now,  if  we  have"  she  asked,  sternly, 
"than  to  go  on  until  it  is  too  late?" 

[His  own  words  to  Lucretia.  If  he  could  only  accept 
this  most  unexpected  solution  of  the  whole  problem!] 

"Why  do  you  say  that,  Mimi?"  he  asked  again. 

"Because  I  know  you  don't  care  as  I  do,  Steve," 
Mimi  said,  fighting  the  pain  in  her  throat,  and  the  pain 
behind  her  eyes,  and  the  worst  pain  of  all  in  her  heart. 

He  could  not  answer  her  in  words;  he  was  still,  looking 
down. 

"You  see  that?"  she  asked,  sick  suspicion  turned  to 
sick  certainty  now.  And  to  her  soul  the  quick  wish 
stabbed,  that  she  had  not  asked  him,  that  she  had  been 
satisfied  with  what  he  could  give  her,  rather  than 
forcing  this  bitter  issue! 

"I  suppose  I  see  that  I  am  not  an  especially — 
especially  demonstrative  man,  Mimi,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"Steve,  be  honest  with  me!  Do  you  love  me? 
No,  I  don't  mean  as  Aunt  Bessy  and  Uncle  Sam  do! 
But  as  much  as  you  could  love  any  woman?" 

They  faced  each  other  in  the  green  afternoon 
silence.  Not  a  bird  moved  in  the  woods,  Stephen's 
horse  crunched  a  low  branch  of  some  overhanging 
shrub. 

"You  are  not  satisfied,  then?"  Stephen  said,  in  his 
troubled,  uncertain  voice. 

"Answer  me!"  she  responded,  briefly. 

Silence.  He  continued  to  look  down  blindly  for 
almost  a  full  minute  of  silence,  then  he  looked  up  at 
her  with  the  smile  she  loved,  only  now  it  had  a  new 
element  of  pity  and  sorrow. 

"Mimi,  dear,  I'm  sorry!" 

The  girl  dropped  her  face  into  her  hands  and  turned 


168  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

her  back  upon  him  for  a  few  seconds.  Stephen  did 
not  speak  again,  or  make  any  attempt  to  touch  her. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  he  heard  her  say  in  a  whisper. 

When  she  turned  about  she  was  very  pale,  tearless, 
and  composed.  Her  voice  was  dry  and  quick. 

"Stephen,  why  did  you  never  tell  me?" 

"Mimi,  dear,  there  was  nothing  to  tell.  There 
is  nothing  now.  You  have  always  been  one  of  the 
dearest  people  in  my  life,  you  always  will  be.  I  am 
sorrier  than  I  can  say " 

"Oh,"  she  said,  sharply,  breathing  hard,  "please 
don't  pity  me!" 

There  was  another  silence,  while  she  looked  down 
and  far  away,  her  breast  rising  stormily,  her  teeth 
caught  in  her  lower  lip. 

"I  knew  it,"  she  said,  quickly,  "of  course  I  knew  it, 
from  the  very  beginning!  But  I  thought  it  was  be- 
cause you  were  so  busy,  and  perhaps  because  you 
were  never  a  particularly  emotional  sort  of  man — 
never  like  Fred  and  Ted 

"And  I  thought  perhaps  after  we  were  married — 
it  might  all  come — other  women  told  me  that  it  did, 
sometimes — and  in  books,  and  plays " 

"Mimi,  isn't  it  enough  that  I  respect  you,  and 
truly  lore  you,  and  admire  you  ?  It  will  come,  dear 5 

"Oh,"  she  said,  drawing  herself  away  from  him, 
"do  you  think  I  would  marry  you  now?  No,  Til 
never  mar«*y  any  one — never  any  one,  now!"  And 
again  she  looked  down  and  away,  with  a  brooding  face. 

"Why  not  postpone  it,  as  you  suggest?"  Stephen 
said,  after  a  pause.  "Then,  in  a  few  months- 
She  looked  at  him,  angry  dark  eyes  bright  through 
her  tears. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  169 

"That  you  can  agree  to  that!"  she  said,  raging. 
"Steve,  what  do  you  think  I  am!"  And  she  came 
close  to  him,  and  looked  up  at  him  challengingly. 
"Do  you  think  I  will  go  through  that  farce  of  a  white 
gown  and  a  veil,  and  your  mother's  pearls,  and  a 
trip  to  Atlantic  City — with  you  merely  kind  and 
bored ! "  she  said,  trembling.  "  I  loved  you — I  love  you, 
I'm  not  ashamed  of  it!  But  I  will  kill  myself  before 
you  ever  put  your  finger  on  me  again!" 

He  looked  at  her  gravely;  she  knew  that  kindly, 
somewhat  puzzled  look.  She  and  Fred  had  treated 
him  to  their  rages  before  this.  And  with  that  look, 
that  always  seemed  to  ask  from  them  patience  and 
an  explanation,  everything  that  was  hard  and  sore  in 
her  seemed  to  melt.  She  loved  him  so — she  had 
always  loved  her  square,  serious,  tender  guardian  and 
champion! 

"Steve,"  she  said,  tears  springing  to  her  eyes  now, 
and  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "You  mustn't  mind  my 
being  so  angry!  I'm  angry  at  myself — I  made  you 
ask  me — ah,  yes,  I  did,  although  you  thought  you  did 
it  of  your  own  accord!  I've  been  so  happy,"  faltered 
Mimi,  "thinking  that  you  always  had  cared,  but 
that  perhaps  you  didn't  know  it!  All  these  months, 
buying  linen,  and  buying  that  house  you  hated — -all 
that  time  I  knew  that  you  didn't  care.  I  know  you 
meant  what  was  kind,  in  telling  me,"  she  finished, 
after  a  pause,  "and  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  glad! 

"Now,  how  shall  we  tell  people ? "  She  seemed  to  be 
speaking  to  herself,  and  merely  made  a  silencing,  im- 
patient gesture  toward  him  when  he  would  have 
spoken.  "I  didn't  lose  much  time  in  telling  them 
before!"  she  added,  with  a  little  rueful  laugh.  "Ste- 


170  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

phen,  if  you  don't  mind,  I  shall  just  tell  Aunt  Bessy 
and  Uncle  Sam  that  it's  a  delay,"  she  went  on,  a 
little  feverishly,  "or  perhaps  even  that  won't  be  neces- 
sary for  a  few  weeks.  Uncle  Sam  isn't  well " 

Her  sudden  self-possession  and  her  thought  for  the  old 
people  hurt  him  more  than  either  of  the  previous  moods. 

"Mimi,  dear,"  he  said,  "you  don't  know  how  badly 
I  feel  ab®ut  this.  Why  not  start  fresh " 

"Start  fresh!"  she  echoed  in  amazement  and  scorn. 

"I  mean — since  there  is  so  much — their  happiness, 
and  the  old,  old  affection  between  us — need  you  say 
anything  to  them  now?  Mightn't  a  few  weeks  make 
a  difference " 

"You  mean  that  I  am  to  go  on  getting  ready  to  be 
married?"  Mimi  asked,  directly. 

"What  I  meant  was  that  I  wanted  you  to  know  how 
I  felt " 

He  stopped,  even  to  himself  he  seemed  to  be  making 
no  headway;  he  was  confusedly  conscious  of  having 
lost  all  sight  of  his  goal. 

Mimi  came  close  to  him,  and  looked  up  at  him 
with  a  determined,  if  pale,  little  face. 

"Don't  make  any  mistake,  Stephen,"  she  said, 
breathlessly.  "Our  engagement  is  over.  But  for  the 
sake  of  the  others  I  don't  see  anything  else  to  do  but 
wait — about  telling  them,  I  mean.  We  have  always 
said  October,  but  nobody  outside  of  the  family  knows 
that  there  was  any  date  set!  So  that,"  Mimi 
finished,  with  the  quick  manner  of  one  who  ends  a 
distasteful  business,  "that  ends  it.  We  are  not  en- 
gaged— that  is  all  over.  I  don't  care  what  yeu  say  to 
people,  ©r  what  they  think.  It's  over.  And  now, 
unless  y©u  go  on,  you  will  miss  your  train!" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  171 

She  made  a  farewell  gesture  with  her  hand,  and 
walked  quickly  up  the  road  under  the  big  trees,  her 
small  figure,  in  the  odd  little  Sunday  dress  of  blue 
gingham  and  red  cotton,  disappearing  about  a  turn 
some  hundred  yards  away. 

He  did  not  know  that  when  she  was  out  of  sight  she 
sat  down  upon  a  wayside  log,  and  rested  her  elbows 
upon  her  knees  and  her  chin  in  her  hands,  and  so  sat, 
staring  blankly  before  her,  for  the  hardest  hour  that  she 
had  ever  known. 

She  knew  that  she  would  not  die,  and  death  was  the 
only  thing  she  wanted.  Just  to  get  away  from  the 
tongues,  and  the  eyes,  and  the  surprise,  and  the  pity! 
For  a  long  while  she  made  no  sound,  but  she  felt  as 
if  her  heart  were  slowly  bleeding,  while  everything 
that  had  been  bright  and  wonderful  in  life  darkened 
and  faded,  and  turned  into  menace  and  hurt. 

Stephen !  If  the  red  sun  that  was  going  down 

behind  the  far  end  of  the  mountain  had  suddenly 
scowled  at  her,  Mimi  would  not  have  been  much  more 
frightened  and  horrified.  Stephen  had  always  been 
so  good  to  her,  it  had  seemed  so  natural  that  he  should 
go  on  taking  care  of  her  until  the  end  of  time!  She 
had  so  joyfully  taken  his  gallantry  and  his  interest  and 
his  concern  for  granted,  wanted  it  all — always. 

Her  face  burned  with  shame.  She  had  taken  too 
much  for  granted — that  was  the  trouble.  She  had 
given  herself  too  readily,  dancing  so  lightheartedly  into 
the  questions  of  gowns  and  houses  and  rugs  and  linen! 

The  world  was  tu/ned  upside-down  for  Mimi  as  she 
walked  slowly  back  to  the  cabin.  Apart  from  her  own 
wretchedness,  there  would  be  the  suffocating  business 
of  telling  the  others 


172  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

Aunt  Bessy  would  cry,  and  the  Judge  puff  out  de- 
nials and  deprecations.  And  they  would  be  angry  at 
Stephen.  Mimi  felt  a  bitter  satisfaction  in  the  thought 
of  their  utter  disappointment  in  their  idol. 

Fred  and  Ted  Rutger  had  gone  back  to  the  city  on 
the  morning  train,  but  Marjorie  and  the  older  people 
were  on  the  front  porch,  in  the  first  sweet  coolness 
of  sunset,  when  she  came  slowly  back.  Marjorie  said 
with  spirit  that  she  confidently  expected  to  see  Stephen, 
too!  He  certainly  had  missed  his  train.  They  had 
been  waiting  and  waiting  for  her.  Nobody  wanted 
any  supper  yet.  Marjorie  pulled  Mimi  down  be- 
side her  and  snuggled  an  arm  about  her  waist;  she 
saw  the  signs  of  tears  in  Mimi's  eyes,  if  the  others 
did  not,  and  she  suspected  a  mood  of  depression. 

The  two  girls  sat  silent,  while  Marjorie's  parents, 
the  Currans,  and  Mrs.  Porter,  drifted  into  a  conver- 
sation that  was  reminiscent  of  the  Sanbridge  of  forty 
years  ago.  Marjorie,  who  had  been  flirting,  playing 
tennis,  laughing,  riding,  swimming,  and  dancing  vio- 
lently for  the  past  forty-eight  hours — for  the  young 
people  by  no  means  confined  their  activities  to  the 
immediate  neighborhood  of  the  cabin — felt  a  certain 
reaction,  and  was  quiet.  Mimi  leaned  against  her, 
her  eyes  brooding,  her  mind  and  heart  a  centre  for 
stormy  and  miserable  thoughts. 

The  lovely  twilight  fell,  the  air  was  cooler,  crickets 
began  to  scrape  in  the  grass,  and  in  the  silence  the 
tumbling  waters  of  the  creek  made  a  pleasant  liquid 
undertone.  The  red  summer  moon  came  up  over  the 
edge  of  the  upland  meadow,  the  fruit-trees  dropped 
inky  shadows  in  the  first  silver  flood.  A  whip-poor- 
will  called  in  the  woods,  came  nearer,  died  away. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  173 

Mimi  felt  that  her  heart  was  breaking  with  pain, 
and  beauty,  and  loss.  She  looked  so  white,  when 
they  finally  went  in  to  find  themselves  a  supper  in 
the  dim  warm  gloom  of  lamplight,  that  her  aunt  sug- 
gested bed. 

The  tears  came  into  the  girl's  eyes,  she  sipped  iced 
coffee,  played  with  her  salad,  and  presently  excused 
herself,  and  kissed  them  all  wearily  good-night. 

But  when  Marjorie  came  into  the  bedroom  they 
shared,  half  an  hour  later,  Mimi  had  made  no  move 
toward  undressing,  but  was  standing  by  the  window, 
staring  absently  out  at  the  sweep  of  clearing  that  lay 
between  the  cabin  and  the  woods. 

"You  and  Steve  have  had  a  quarrel!"  Marjorie 
said,  with  an  almost  pleased  interest,  coming  to  put 
her  arm  about  the  other  girl's  waist. 

Mimi  tried  to  smile. 

"Not  exactly  a  quarrel!  r' 

"Oh,  Mimi,  I  thought  you  and  he  had  never  had 
a  word  in  your  lives!"  exclaimed  Marjorie,  thrilled. 

"Well,  we  never  have"  Mimi  said,  leaden-hearted. 

"Mimi,  don't  you  mind  it!"  warm-hearted  Marjorie 
consoled  her.  "Why,  that's  part  of  the  fun!  When 
I'm  engaged  I  know  I  shall  just  work  myself  up  to 
fights — just  for  the  fun  of  making  up,  getting  a  note 
from  him  that  he's  going  to  cut  his  throat,  and  all 
that!  And  then  having  him  call,  and  sweeping  into 
the  drawing-room,  very  busy — no  time  to  waste 
on  him !" 

"Margie,  you  goose!"  But  Mimi  was  really  smiling 
now,  and  she  rubbed  her  cheek  against  Margie's  as 
if  it  comforted  her  to  have  this  commonplace  and  cheer- 
ful construction  placed  upon  her  catastrophe.  "It 


174  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

isn't — just  like  that,"  she  hesitated,  her  face  darkening. 

"You  think  it  isn't.  But  all  love-affairs  are  just 
alike!7'  said  the  sage  Marjorie.  "Now  come  to  bed— 
we're  all  dead  tired.  Sunday  luncheons  ought  to  be 
forbidden  by  law,  anyway  in  summer,"  mused  Marjorie, 
beginning  briskly  upon  the  unlacing  of  her  high  boots. 
"I  marvel  that  any  engagement  ever  survives  a  July 
Sunday  afternoon!  Fried  chicken  and  strawberry 
shortcake;  I  wonder  that  we  don't  have  pictures  of  them 
on  the  national  seal!  Matea's  cream  gravy  alone  is  a 
full  meal.  Now,  mark  my  words,  Mimi,  for  all  you 
look  so  serious,  Stephen  Winship  is  feeling  a  lot  worse 
than  you  do,  he's  probably  at  the  club  by  this  time, 
thinking  what  a  fool  he's  been  to  make  you  unhappy!" 

This  view  of  the  case  appealed  to  Mimi's  reason. 
After  all,  what  had  Stephen  said?  That  he  was  not 
sure  he  loved  her  enough,  that  was  all.  And  wasn't 
that  adorably  like  Steve,  when  one  analyzed  it,  to  be 
afraid  he  was  not  quite  fervent  enough?  Wasn't 
that  a  part  of  his  extraordinary  scrupulousness? 

Mimi  was  refreshed  by  tears,  she  had  eaten  no  sup- 
per, and  felt  pleasantly  exhausted  and  relaxed.  The 
strain  at  her  heart  was  relieved;  might  this  be  but  a 
lover's  quarrel,  after  all,  as  Margie  had  suggested? 
The  delicious  anticipation  of  reconciliation  warmed 
her  very  soul.  That  angry  talk  in  the  road  would  be- 
come only  the  cause  of  a  wonderful  reunion,  when  she 
would  have  Stephen's  arm  about  her  again  while  they 
talked  the  whole  thing  over,  and  while  he  told  her  that 
he  could  not  live  without  his  Mimi,  and  she  confided 
in  return  that  the  measures  of  devotion  he  could  give 
her  more  than  satisfied  her  heart. 

"You  may  be  very  sure,J>  said  Marjorie,  through 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  175 

the  bristles  of  her  tooth-brush,  "that  Steve  is  biting 
a  club  pen  to  pieces  while  he  writes  you  eleven  pages  of 
explanation!  I  suppose  he  told  you  that  he  thought 
Grace  had  pretty  hair,  and  you  said  that  he  had 
always  admired  her — 

Stephen's  lack  of  enthusiasm  for  Grace  being  well 
recognized,  Mimi  laughed. 

"Not  at  all.  It  was — well,  I'll  tell  you  what  it 
was,  Marge!" 

"You  don't  have  to  tell  me!" 

"I  know  I  don't — I  want  to!  It  was  that  Steve 
thinks  he  doesn't  show  enough  emotion — that  is,  that 
he  isn't  demonstrative  enough — that  while  he  feels — 
feels  a  lot—  Mimi  stopped,  smiling,  for  Marjorie's 

eyes  were  dancing. 

"Now  dont  tell  me  you  two  idiots —  '  Marjorie 
stopped  in  her  turn,  as  if  made  speechless  by  such 
stupidity. 

Mimi  laughed.  There  were  neither  the  anticipated 
tears  nor  sleeplessness  for  her  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

STEPHEN,  meanwhile,  was  but  a  few  miles  away,  over 
the  mountain  ridge  at  Gunther's  hotel  in  Farley's. 
He  had,  as  Marjorie  suspected,  missed  his  train,  but 
the  station-master  had  advised  him  to  ride  the  four 
miles  to  Farley's,  where  the  big  hotels  sometimes 
sent  an  omnibus  into  the  city  with  late  Sunday 
guests. 

The  omnibus  had  been  gone  ten  minutes  when  he 
reached  Farley's.  But  an  old  surrey  was  about  to 
leave  for  the  Gunther  House,  and  the  driver  assured 
him  that  he  could  find  supper  and  a  bed  there.  There 
was  no  train  for  the  city  until  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing; he  had  better  stay  over,  and  go  in  with  the  Monday 
crowd  at  seven  o'clock. 

"I  suppose  I  could  get  in  at  the  Corkoran  or  the 
Imperial  House?"  Stephen  said.  These  were  close 
to  the  station.  The  driver  of  the  Gunther  surrey 
shrugged  a  dubious  shoulder. 

"Maybe  ye  could,"  he  said.  "But  you  sure  could 
up  our  way!" 

So  Stephen,  with  his  heart  expectant  as  a  boy's,  got 
into  the  surrey,  and  was  driven  up  the  hill.  And  when 
he  descended  before  the  long  porches  of  the  old  colonial 
farmhouse,  among  the  scattered  guests  who  were  wait- 
ing for  Sunday  supper  he  saw  Lucretia. 

She  was  down  at  the  foot  of  the  garden,  in  the  door- 
way of  an  old  summer-house,  in  white,  with  a  broad 

176 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  177 

white  hat.  Two  or  three  very  small  children  were  with 
her;  she  was  seated  among  them,  in  a  green  iron  chair, 
and  she  had  a  tiny  black  kitten  in  her  hands.  The 
twilight  lay  glowing  upon  her  warm  skin,  and  the  light 
of  the  summer  day  was  in  her  wonderful  eyes. 

When  Stephen  went  toward  her,  she  rose,  and  a 
smile  twitched  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  and  she  gave 
him  her  hand  with  a  look  that  swept  away  every  vestige 
of  reason  or  resolution  from  his  mind.  His  whole 
world  was  centred  here,  where  these  eyes  were  shining, 
where  this  smooth,  vital  hand  was  waiting,  where  this 
rich  voice — with  the  note  in  it  that  was  not  quite 
protesting,  not  quite  mused,  not  quite  maternal,  but 
something  of  all  three — was  saying: 

"Stephen!     What  brings  you  here?" 

"What  do  you  think?"  he  stammered,  feeling  the 
solid  walls  of  earth  melt  away,  and  the  dim,  miraculous 
vistas  of  paradise  open  before  him. 

The  hours  that  followed  were  among  the  few  that 
life  ever  gives  of  perfection.  Stephen  and  Lucretia 
were  in  an  enchanted  world,  lighted  by  a  lingering 
summer  sunset,  a  long,  perfumed  twilight,  and  by  the 
moon  that  came  up  suddenly  red  and  enormous,  and 
sent  long  shadows  from  the  haycocks  in  the  mountain 
meadow,  and  that  mounted  into  a  pale,  trembling, 
luminous  summer  sky. 

They  dined  side  by  side,  finding  the  country  fare 
delicious;  Stephen  making  himself  fascinating,  now  and 
then,  to  the  thrilled  little  music  teacher  who  chanced 
to  be  his  left-hand  neighbor  at  the  long  table,  and  Lu- 
cretia exchanging  an  occasional  friendly  word  with  the 
old  sea-captain  on  her  right. 

To  each  other  they  murmured  only  commonplaces, 


178  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

if  anything  could  be  commonplace  on  this  night  of 
midsummer  magic.  They  must  see  "Ma"  first, 
Lucretia  told  him,  and  then  perhaps  they  could  take 
a  stroll  ?  Stephen  felt  a  sense  of  suffocation,  and  actual 
suffusion  of  the  heart,  as  he  thought  of  the  walk. 

"Ma,"  an  enormous  grizzled  old  country  woman, 
whose  eily  warm  old  face  made  her  seem  of  another 
race  and  sex  than  the  radiant  Lucretia,  was  pleased  to 
meet  the  District  Attorney  of  Sanbridge,  and  get  his 
opinion  of  her  lemon  meringue  pie.  She  remembered 
him  when  he  wasn't  no  bigger  than  her  Tom's  Tommy, 
she  said.  Once  when  they  was  measles  over  to  Warren's 
Mills,  and  he  and  his  folks  were  there,  his  Ma  had 
sent  him  and  his  brother  up  to  her  for  awhile,  guess 
he  didn't  remember  that  ?  So  he  was  a  friend  of  Mis' 
Lombard's?  Yes — Ma  mused  inconsequentially,  Tom 
died  you  know  and  his  wife  died  'fore  he  did 

They  left  her  spread  rather  than  sitting  upon  a 
wide  rocking-chair,  palm-leaf  fan  in  hand,  two  or  three 
noisy  granddaughters  clattering  pans  in  the  hot, 
lamp-lighted  kitchen  near  by.  It  was  lovely  to  saunter 
away  between  the  currant  bushes,  under  the  dusty, 
thick-leaved  apple-trees,  past  the  dry,  clean-smelling 
litter  of  the  barnyard,  to  the  stone-fenced  meadows 
ringed  about  with  pines,  where  the  moon  was  pouring 
her  dim  radiance,  transforming  and  bewitching  all  the 
world. 

Lucretia  seated  herself  upon  the  rough  lichened 
surface  of  a  projecting  boulder,  and  Stephen  settled 
himself  in  the  grass  at  her  feet,  and  lighted  his  cigarette. 
His  shoulder  was  against  the  rock,  one  arm  flung  over 
it,  her  frail  full  white  skirts  billowed  close  beside  him. 
Her  fine  bare  hands  were  clasped  quietly  in  her  lap, 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  179 

she  was  slightly  leaning  back,  to  touch  the  projecting 
back  of  the  rock,  and  upon  her  face  the  mingled  glow 
of  twilight  and  moonshine  threw  an  exquisite  and  un- 
earthly light.  She  took  off  the  white  hat,  and  Stephen 
saw  the  little  silky  pressure  it  had  left  upon  her  shining 
hair. 

It  was  all  magic,  whether  they  talked  or  were  silent, 
both  were  steeped  in  unutterable  content.  Stephen 
felt  that  he  would  have  liked  to  sit  so  forever,  with  the 
mountain's  shoulder  falling  away  below  him,  and  the 
furry  gray  tops  of  the  trees  swimming  in  milky  moon- 
light, and  the  good  summery  smell  of  forest  and  drying 
weeds  about  him. 

"I  have  never  loved  a  woman  before,"  he  told  her. 

"No;  nor  have  I  ever  loved  before,"  she  answered, 
simply.  And  thoughtfully  she  added,  "But  I  always 
knew  that  I  could." 

"I  suppose  I  did,  too!  But  it's  funny,"  mused 
Stephen.  "This — this  feeling  makes  me  love  every- 
thing and  everybody — conductors  on  trains,  even,  and 
the  people  I  pass  in  the  street!  If  I  see  a  milliner's 
window,  I  think  it's  nice,"  said  Stephen,  smiling  at 
his  own  absurdity,  "to  think  that  girls  can  go  in 
there  and  buy  new  hats,  and  if  I  come  to  a  place  like 
this — it  seems  to  me  wonderful  that  an  old  woman  like 
Mrs.  Gunther  can  be  so  useful  and  so  happy,  and  that 
summer's  wonderful,  and  life  is  wonderful,  and  that 
everything  is  all  right!" 

He  heard  her  laugh;  she  did  not  speak  for  awhile. 

"I've  been  thinking,"  she  said,  presently,  "that  in 
the — the  amazement  of  discovering  what  we  meant 
to  each  other,  last  Thursday,  we  have  been  perhaps  a 
little  selfish.  Did  you — did  you  talk  to  Mimi  ? " 


180  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Don't,"  he  pleaded,  "don't  let  us  be  heroic  to- 
night!" 

"We  won't  be  heroic,"  she  assured  him.  "I  don't 
think  there  is  any  need  for  heroics!  But  I  have  been 
thinking  that  we  were  a  little — carried  away.  What- 
ever you  feel  for  Mimi,  and  have  come  to  feel  for  me, 
we  must  move  with  a  certain  decency!  I  have  been 
widowed  for  only  five  months,  you  are  engaged  to 
another  woman." 

"But,  Lucretia—  '  he  began,  impetuously,  inter- 
rupting himself.  "Why  did  you  put  your  fingers  on 
my  cheek?"  he  asked. 

"  Because  I  like  to  hear  you  call  me  Lucretia,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"Lucretia,  then.  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  cannot 
have  you  talk  about  renunciation,  and  all  that.  These 
forty-eight  hours,  since  Friday,  have  taught  me  that 
there  is  nothing  else  in  the  world  but  you !  I  love  them 
all — all  the  others,  but  it  is  because  I  love  you  so!" 

"But,  Stephen,  this  is  what  I  want  to  say.  I  see  no 
reason  to  be  precipitate,  dear — even  if  it  were  right 
for  me,  it  is  not  for  you!  Did  you — could  you  say 
anything  to  Mimi  ?  * 

"I  talked  to  her.  I  didn't  get  much  said,"  he  con- 
fessed. 

"She  felt  badly?" 

"She  made  me  feel  like  a  rotter.  In  fact — in  fact, 
I  had  to  leave  it  all  up  in  the  air!  I  said  that  I  was 
afraid  I  was  not  giving  her  as  much  as  she — as  she  had 
a  right  to  claim,  do  you  see?  I  don't  know  just  how 
I  expressed  it,  but  that  was  the  gist.  She — you  know 
she's  wonderful,  Mimi! " 

"Oh,  I  know  she  is.     She  was  angry?" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  181 

"Well,  in  a  way  she  was.  She  broke  the  engage- 
ment— 

"Broke  it!"  breathed  Lucretia. 

"Yes.  And  then  I  persuaded  her  not  to  tell  the  old 
people — I  suggested  that  it  simply  rest  as  it  is  for1 
awhile " 

"Yes,  that  is  what  I  meant!"  she  said,  eagerly. 
"The  engagement  is  broken?"  she  asked,  slowly,  after 
a  pause. 

"Mimi  said  so.  But  I  am  not  sure  she  really  meant 
it.  A  talk  like  that  is  awfully  hard  to  get  over," 
Stephen  explained,  somewhat  apologetically. 

"Oh,  Stephen,  frightful!" 

The  three  words  lingered  like  music  on  the  summer 
air;  her  sympathy  was  exquisite  to  him. 

"Leave  it  so  for  a  little  while,"  she  said,  "Mimi  will 
make  some  plan,  perhaps  go  abroad,  the  thing  may 
gradually  solve  itself.  You  and  Mimi  were  engaged — 
a  few  friends  knew  it.  Now  it  is  broken,  Mimi  goes 
away  perhaps — some  other  excitement  comes  up. 
And  then  some  time  next  year — next  summer  at  about 
this  time — you  and  I  are  quietly  married — and  come 
up  to  Gunther's!" 

The  thought  choked  him;  he  pressed  his  lips  against 
her  hand.  Here  and  everywhere — his  wife.  There 
would  be  one  room,  down  there  in  the  old  farmhouse, 
whose  gracious,  primitive  gable  lifted  itself  over  an 
edge  of  the  meadow.  Their  room! 

After  awhile  they  wandered,  talking  all  the  time, 
back  through  the  now  broad  and  splendid  moonlight 
to  the  house;  the  bright  white  night  was  full  of  move- 
ment and  voices.  Sharp  tree  shadows  lay  against  the 
mild  face  of  the  old  colonial  farmhouse;  the  orchard 


182  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

was  all  silver  and  inky  blots;  light  swam  like  a  floating 
veil  across  the  valley.  Groups  passed  them;  they  heard 
laughter  and  exclamation. 

"Isn't  it  a  wonderful  night,  Mrs.  Lombard!" 

"Isn't  it  quite  extraordinary?" 

"Did  you  see  the  moonrise,  Mrs.  Lombard?" 

"Indeed,  I  saw  every  instant  of  it!" 

Stephen  loved  her  friendliness,  the  ready,  gracious 
replies.  Ma  Gunther  assailed  her  from  the  dim, 
creaking  shadows  of  the  hot  porch.  Seventy  years 
of  moonrises  had  sated  Ma  Gunther. 

"Don't  suppose  ye  feel  like  a  game  of  Halmy  in 
the  parlour,  Mis'  Lombard?" 

"I  feel  just  like  it!"  Lucretia's  fragrance  and  her 
white  thin  skirts  swayed  toward  Stephen  in  the  dark. 
"It's  her  one  delight,  and  it  won't  take  long!"  she 
whispered,  apologetically. 

They  went  in,  to  supper-scented  heat  and  red  lamp- 
light. A  June  bug  batted  about  among  rick-rack 
picture  frames  and  china  statues.  Stephen  sat  in  a 
patent  rocker  with  red  ball-fringe,  and  turned  the 
pages  of  a  copy  of  a  magazine  some  months  old,  and 
watched  Lucretia.  The  old  lady's  knotted,  oily  hands 
trembled  joyfully  over  the  tiny  red  and  yellow  men. 

He  felt  the  perspiration  upon  his  forehead;  Lu- 
cretia looked  cool,  although  there  was  a  delicious  hint 
of  babyish  dampness  up  where  the  smooth,  clear 
brown  forehead  met  the  rich,  tan-brown  hair.  The 
fine  brown  hand,  with  the  little  pearl  buttons  on  the 
transparent  cuff,  moved  quickly  and  surely;  the  even 
thick  brows  were  knitted;  extraordinary  creature  that 
she  was,  the  game  absorbed  her! 

It  was   a   part  of  her,   this   utter   simplicity.     He 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  183 

thought  it  vaguely  akin  to  her  acceptance  of  the 
rectory  in  Kingsgreen  Square;  it  was  her  own  way  of 
living,  and  she  offered  it  gladly  to  the  world.  Imagine 
Marjorie, — indeed,  imagine  Mimi,  humoring  this 
delighted  old  lady  in  this  fashion,  quite  simply  sitting 
down  to  this  preposterous  game!  Especially  with  an 
admitted  admirer  about,  to  witness  the  old  organ 
and  the  whatnot,  the  shells  and  antimacassars  of  the 
Gunther  parlor. 

"Keepin'  ye  from  your  beau,  dear?"  said  Grandma, 
in  the  heat  of  the  second  game. 

"Indeed  you're  not!  He  didn't  come  to  see  me. 
Mr.  Winship  has  been  up  at  Red  Pine,  above  Warren's 
Mills,  with  Judge  and  Mrs.  Curran,"  Lucretia  answered 
laughing.  "He  missed  the  train! 

"You're  afraid  you're  losing  the  game,  Ma,  that's 
why  you're  worrying  about  Mr.  Winship,"  she  added, 
serenely,  after  a  busy  moment. 

"No,  I  ain't  afraid  I'm  losin',"  cackled  her  hostess, 
with  a  proud  glance  at  Stephen.  "I  ain't  never  played 
with  nobody  like  Mis'  Lombard,"  she  confided  to  him, 
"she  certainly  has  a  wonderful  mast'ry  of  Halmy. 
I've  played  for  years,  off'n  on,  but  declare  if  she  don't 
beat  me,  now  and  then!" 

"You  see,  Mrs.  Gunther  won't  play  from  sunset 
Saturday  night  until  after  sunset  Sunday,"  Lucretia 
explained,  with  the  serious  look  of  a  good  child.  "So 
she  looks  forward  to  this  game!" 

The  room  was  suffocatingly  hot;  Stephen  had  fallen 
into  a  sort  of  weary  daze  when  Lucretia  touched  him 
upon  the  shoulder.  He  stumbled  up,  laid  aside  his 
book,  blinked. 

"Come  out  for  just  a  breath  of  air  before  it's  time 


184  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

to  go  to  bed!"  she  said.  He  followed  her  into  the 
grateful  darkness  of  the  garden. 

A  good  many  of  Ma's  boarders  had  gone  in;  it  was 
eleven  o'clock.  The  moon  was  still  majestically 
moving  across  the  purple-blue  luminous  expanse  above 
them,  the  stars  were  throbbing  rhythmically  in  the 
soft  night. 

They  went  down  to  the  old  summer-house,  and 
looked  out  through  its  big  arched  openings  at  the 
changing  beauty  of  woods  and  fields  in  pouring,  mys- 
tical moonlight;  Stephen's  chair  so  close  to  her  own 
that  he  could  lay  his  arm  along  the  iron  support  behind 
her,  and  when  she  turned  to  speak  to  him,  to  laugh,  to 
faintly  protest  at  something  that  he  said,  he  felt  the 
movement  of  her  silky  hair  like  a  little  wave  of  perfume 
against  his  cheek. 

He  could  see  the  topaz  eyes  in  the  gloom,  the  flowing 
spread  of  white  skirt,  the  hint  of  slenderness,  of 
roundness,  of  young  firmness  and  straightness  that 
made  every  inch  of  her  beautiful.  One  of  his  hands 
fell  on  her  further  shoulder,  and  she  put  her  smooth 
fingers  up  to  hold  it. 

For  almost  an  hour  they  talked  together;  then 
suddenly  she  told  him  that  they  must  go  in.  He 
held  her  for  one  deep  and  fragrant  and  intoxicating 
kiss — and  one  more — and  one  more,  drinking  of  the 
red  young  mouth,  and  straining  the  whole  lovely  woman 
toward  him,  as  if  he  never  could  let  her  go. 

Then  she  half  ran  up  the  garden  path,  dragging  him 
by  an  imperious  hand,  and  they  were  in  the  hallway 
again;  a  hallway  still  hot  and  odorous  now  of  kerosene 
and  the  strong  oil  in  some  mosquito  poison.  And 
here  she  whispered  to  his  whirling  senses  a  laughing 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  185 

good-night,  and  fled  up  the  dim  stairway  with  never 
a  backward  look. 

Stephen  was  dizzied  with  emotion;  he  had  never  had 
half-a-dozen  such  hours  in  all  his  life.  He  had  been 
remembering,  as  perfect,  the  afternoon  in  Kingsgreen 
Square,  the  little  trip  from  Sanbridge  to  Farley's. 
But  this  was  utter  ecstasy,  this  summer  moonlight, 
these  long,  deep,  murmured  talks,  this  laughing,  sweet, 
enchanting  woman,  whose  beauty  was  spinning  in 
his  eyes  and  his  heart  and  his  soul  like  a  hundred 
kaleidoscopic  pictures. 

He  could  not  resign  her  to  the  stuffy,  candle- 
lighted  upstairs  of  the  farmhouse.  He  walked  out 
upon  the  grass  again,  looked  up  at  windows.  One 
or  two  gleamed  dimly — were  dark.  She  had  gone  to 
bed.  He  would  not  see  her  again  to-night! 

Mrs.  Gunther  had  consigned  him  to  another  building, 
once  a  tenant-house,  now  used  as  an  annex.  But  he 
could  not  go  to  bed.  Her  voice  sounded  in  his  ears, 
he  was  smothered  and  drowned  in  the  beauty  and 
delight  of  her.  He  was  too  rich  even  to  count  his 
treasure  of  words  and  smiles  and  glances;  it  was  as 
if  he  gathered  them  in  his  hands,  in  a  very  madness 
of  possession,  and  let  them  fall  in  a  wild  river  of  riches 
about  him. 

Perhaps  that  was  her  window;  perhaps,  robed  in 
white,  and  with  her  hair  braided,  she  was  looking  down. 
Stephen  longed  for  one  more  word  from  her — one 
glance!  But  there  was  no  stir  in  the  shadowy  oblong 
that  showed  against  the  black,  plain  rise  of  the  house. 
If  she  was  standing  there,  with  her  wild  heart  beating 
like  his  own,  she  gave  no  sign. 

As  motionless  as  the  leaf  shadows,  he  stood  against 


186  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

the  trunk  of  a  great  maple,  looking  up.  A  hot  night 
wind  stirred  the  heavy  branches,  sighed  as  if  the  whole 
earth  sighed  with  heat  and  weariness.  There  was  a 
clicking  of  twigs,  the  lacy  pattern  of  silver  and  black 
about  him  shifted  and  was  still. 

After  a  long  while  he  shivered,  turned,  and  went 
slowly  toward  his  own  bed.  He  would  see  her  in  the 
morning;  she  had  said  so. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  FEW  days  later  Stephen  found  Mimi  waiting  for  him, 
when  he  went  home  from  his  office  to  the  swathed  and 
darkened  rooms  of  the  Curran  home.  She  wore  her 
pongee  travelling  coat,  somewhat  crumpled,  and  a 
small  tan  hat  swathed  in  creamy  veils,  and  looked 
serious  and  mischievous  at  once. 

"Aunt  Bessy  thought  that  there  was  something  the 
matter  with  her  heart,"  she  said,  demurely,  "and 
I  knew  that  there  was  something  the  matter  with  mine. 
So  we  came  down  to  see  Doctor  Say  re.  Steve,  haven't 
you  anything  to  say  to  me?"  She  widened  her  gipsy 
eyes  and  came  close  to  him.  "After  the  way  you 
talked,  up  on  Red  Pine!" 

"Well,  well,  this  is  a  surprise!"  Stephen  smiled, 
amazingly  disconcerted,  taking  her  hands.  "Why 
didn't  you  telephone?" 

"We  came  so  suddenly.  No,"  said  Mimi,  prettily 
warding  off  his  attempted  kiss  of  greeting,  "I  don't 
kiss  people  I'm  not  engaged  to!  You  have  to  show 
me  all  over  again  how  much  you  like  me!" 

A  week  of  Marjorie's  counsel,  and  her  own  knowledge 
of  Stephen,  had  somewhat  restored  Mimi's  confidence. 
She  had  long  before  this  persuaded  herself  that  Stephen's 
attitude  had  been  only  that  of  the  too-modest  lover. 

He  was  extremely  tired,  his  heart  sank  with  dis- 
couragement and  doubt.  He  did  like  her,  he  loved 
her,  but  every  glance  of  these  dark,  appealing  eyes 

187 


188  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

made  him  feel  more  hideously  a  hypocrite,  more  mis- 
erably dubious  as  to  his  course. 

Her  very  sweetness  hurt  him.  She  had  evidently 
steeled  herself  to  be  unexacting  and  trustful,  to  make 
him  happy  and  take  his  devotion  for  granted. 

"Tell  me  that  you  are  over  your  nonsense  about 
not  being  good  enough  for  me,  you  goose!"  she  said. 
The  unexpected,  resolute  philosophy  of  it  confused 
him.  "You're  dead,"  she  observed,  immediately,  in 
a  tone  of  sympathy.  "Is  it  the  horrible  Bowlder 
case — is  it  those  gangsters  and  gunmen  again?" 

She  had  never  questioned  him  about  his  work  be- 
fore. That  was  new,  too. 

"It's  a  brutal  business,"  he  admitted,  smiling. 
Mimi  was  motherly  at  once. 

"Well,  you're  coming  up  to  the  cabin  with  us  to- 
morrow night,  so  don't  say  you  can't !" 

"Dearest  child,  I  have  to  go  to  Washington  to- 
morrow!'' 

"To  Washington — in  this  broiling  heat!  What 
for?" 

"I  have  to  dig  up  some  facts  in  the  Congressional 
Library — and  to  see  a  man  that's  there,  and  to  do 
lots  of  necessary  stupid  things!" 

"Oh,  Steve!"  Her  little  face  was  piteous  with  dis- 
appointment. 

"I  know,  it's  too  bad." 

"Well."  She  was  cheering.  "I'll  get  into  some- 
thing pretty,  and  you  take  me  somewhere  for  supper, 
and  let's  do  the  Imperial,  and  then  go  up  to  the  roof  of 
the  International,  and  drink  things." 

"How's  Aunt  Bessy?" 

"Oh,  it's  nothing!" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  189 

"Well,  Mimi!"  he  said,  still  bewildered  at  finding 
her  here.  The  dream  of  a  cold  supper  upstairs,  and  a 
letter  to  Lucretia,  faded.  Of  course  he  would  take  her 
to  supper  and  the  roof-garden,  but  he  felt  singularly 
lifeless  and  weary  over  the  matter.  "How  about 
Aunt  Bessy?" 

"She's  to  rest,  and  when  we  come  back,  in  August, 
she's  to  have  treatment.  She  wouldn't  go  with  us 
to-night  anyway.  But  run  up  and  see  her,  Steve!" 

"I'll  tub  and  change  my  clothes,  and  be  ready  in 
half-an-hour!"  He  had  kissed  her,  after  all,  Mimi's 
bright  eyes  full  of  questioning  as  he  did  so.  She 
followed  him  upstairs;  she  must  bathe  and  change,  too. 

While  they  dined,  in  an  airy  corner  of  the  big  Hotel 
International's  summer  dining-room,  with  the  parched 
trees  of  Sanbridge,  and  the  burned  roofs,  and  the 
motionless  faded  awnings,  fair  below  them,  she  watched 
him  closely.  She  chattered  naturally  enough  of  Mar- 
jorie,  and  Ted  and  Fred,  and  of  the  new  Montgomery 
baby  and  the  affair  between  Jerry  Stover  and  Marie 
Fanning.  And  she  took  her  salad  fork,  and  pressed 
upon  the  tablecloth  a  little  outline  of  the  arrangement 
of  rooms  in  a  smaller  but  even  more  convenient  house 
than  the  one  she  had  originally  selected  in  Keystone 
Road.  The  orange  straw  hat  with  the  circling  sweep 
of  bright  green  feathers  was  becoming  to  the  eager 
face,  her  limp  little  filmy  blouse  was  green,  too,  with 
odd  traceries  of  gipsyish  beads  and  gold  stitches  or- 
namenting it.  There  were  jade  balls  in  her  ears.  He 
thought  she  was  her  prettiest  and  sweetest  self  to-night 
— dear  little  old  Mimi. 

And  his  heart  ached  and  ached  at  the  stupid  help- 
lessness and  heaviness  that  enveloped  him;  that  made 


190  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

it  hard  even  to  listen  to  her.  She  just — didn't  count 
any  more.  His  fine  gray  eyes  smiled  at  her  auto- 
matically; he  was  careful  to  order  a  delicious  dinner 
for  her;  but  his  thoughts  were  fretted  almost  to  exas- 
peration, and  the  vision  of  another  woman  in  her 
place — a  woman  whose  cool  white  and  tan  and  gold 
would  have  made  an  odd  contrast  to  all  this  green  and 
orange  and  brunette  sparkle — was  constantly  before 
his  eyes. 

They  talked  for  a  few  minutes  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  when  he  took  her  home  at  midnight,  then  she 
agreed  that  she  was  tired,  and  went  up  to  her  room. 
He  was  leaving  at  seven  o'clock  for  New  York  and 
Washington;  Mimi  smiled  a  pretty  apology.  Would 
he  forgive  her  if  she  didn't  get  up  to  say  good-bye? 

He  would  only  be  gone  three  weeks,  he  said,  to  say 
something.  He  would  write  her,  of  course. 

"Well,  of  course!"  said  Mimi,  a  little  blankly,  stand- 
ing on  the  step  above  him,  and  studying  him  with  her 
troubled,  honest  eyes. 

"That  you,  Mimi?"  called  Mrs.  Curran  from  above. 

They  both  came  up,  and  Stephen  admitted  in  turn 
that  he  was  tired,  and  quite  simply  bent  over  the  big 
bed  to  kiss  his  aunt's  forehead,  under  the  grizzled 
curls,  and  quite  simply  kissed  Mimi,  too,  before  he 
went  up  the  second  flight  to  his  own  room. 

And  to  the  thought,  at  last,  of  Lucretia  again. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

MIMI  wrote  him  early  in  August,  when  he  came  back 
from  Washington.  She  was  still  in  the  mountains; 
they  had  no  immediate  plan  for  a  return. 

She  said,  straightforwardly  and  briefly,  that  she 
agreed  with  him  as  to  their  feeling  for  one  another. 
Their  engagement  had  been  a  mistake,  for  which  she 
blamed  herself  at  least  as  much  as  him.  She  had 
realized  again,  and  convincingly  this  time,  that  he  did 
not  care  in  the  right  way  that  July  night  when  they 
went  to  the  International  and  the  theatre  together. 
She  had  not  told  any  one  the  full  story,  but  she  would 
take  the  first  opportunity  to  intimate  to  her  aunt  and 
uncle  that  affairs  were  not  as  they  thought,  and  that 
she  and  Stephen  had  decided  to  delay  all  their  wedding 
plans  until  their  feeling  was  more  definite.  And  she  was 
always  his  affectionate  friend,  Mary  Yolande  Warren. 

It  hurt  him  inexpressibly.  He  felt  as  if  something 
sweet  and  good  and  dear,  something  that  had  be- 
longed to  him  all  his  life,  had  been  taken  away  from 
him,  or  had  died.  It  was  with  the  pang  of  a  father 
who  realizes  that  his  favorite  little  daughter  has  left 
babyhood  and  dolls  and  school-books  behind  her 
forever,  that  Stephen  thought  of  Mimi.  The  bright, 
responsive  child,  to  whom  he  was  an  oracle,  at  eighteen; 
the  busy  little  girl  going  about  the  big  house  so  happily, 
with  "Sara  Crewe"  and  "The  Admirals  Caravan"; 
the  awkward,  pretty,  earnest  girl  who  had  confided 

191 


192  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

to  him  her  troubles  with  the  High  School  sorority,  and 
finally  the  young  lady  Mimi,  with  her  golf-sticks 
and  her  plaid  skirts,  her  inheritance  and  her  first 
admirers.  They  were  all  dead  now;  he  felt  as  if  he 
had  killed  them.  In  their  place  was  the  hurt  and  dis- 
illusioned Mimi  who  would  swallow  back  her  tears  when 
she  put  away  the  wedding  linens  and  the  engagement 
cups. 

It  would  take  so  little  to  reassure  her — one  page  of 
protest  and  prayer,  and  it  would  be  donel  But  he 
could  not  write  it.  The  love  he  felt  for  Lucretia  was 
like  a  fire  in  his  veins,  and  while  it  burned  there  he 
could  give  not  even  affection  to  any  other  woman. 

Before  he  answered  Mimi's  letter  Lucretia  came 
back  to  the  rectory  for  a  day,  and  they  had  tea  in 
the  room  of  books  and  photographs.  If  he  had  had 
any  previous  doubts,  they  were  dissipated  by  that  ex- 
quisite hour,  when  he  might  watch  the  beautiful,  ex- 
pressive face,  and  listen  to  the  rich,  wonderful  voice 
again. 

She  walked  with  him  across  the  square,  the  dusty, 
heavy  leaves  were  motionless,  shadows  were  hot  and 
metallic  under  the  dull,  heavy  sky  of  a  brooding  after- 
noon. She  was  translating  a  book  of  essays  from  the 
French,  she  was  trying  to  identify  a  piece  of  Old 
Blue  china  she  had  seen  in  a  Mercer  Street  shop,  she 
had  a  new  magazine,  out  of  which  she  read  him  a  poem 
whose  phrases  he  never  forgot. 

The  independence,  the  vitality,  the  charm  of  her 
enchanted  him  afresh,  her  soberness,  her  smiles,  her 
word,  and  her  dreaming  silences  were  all  equally 
enthralling. 

He  drove  her  all  the  way  to  Gunther's,  on  the  follow- 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  193 

ing  afternoon,  going  on  himself  to  the  cabin  on  Red 
Pine.  Mimi  had  sent  him  a  decorous  little  note; 
Uncle  Sam  wanted  to  see  him,  and  because  that  old 
bad  pain  in  his  back  had  returned,  Aunt  Bessy  did  not 
wish  him  to  make  the  trip  into  Sanbridge.  And  she 
was  always  his  affectionately,  Mimi.  The  formal 
"Mary  Yolande"  was  once  again  replaced  by  her  baby 
name — what  a  little  gentlewoman  she  was,  Stephen 
thought,  studying  the  dashing  hand,  the  stiff  gray 
paper  with  a  little  red  pine-tree  engraved  at  the  top, 
the  indefinite  "Thursday,"  Mimi's  only  attempt  at 
a  date. 

She  was  demure  when  they  met,  picturesquely 
dressed,  delightfully  easy  with  Marjorie  and  Ted  and 
the  dogs  and  the  car,  delightfully  dutiful  with  the  old 
persons.  The  Judge's  discomfort  made  a  centre  for 
all  their  talk  and  plans;  it  was  immediately  arranged 
that  Stephen  should  drive  the  old  man  slowly  into  town, 
for  medical  advice. 

In  the  sweltering  heat  of  a  blazing  bright  Sunday 
Mimi  and  Marjorie  padded  the  tonneau  of  the  larger 
of  the  two  cars  with  quilts  and  pillows,  Mrs.  Curran, 
trying  not  to  cry,  went  back  and  forth  with  thermos 
bottles  and  fans.  At  about  four  o'clock  the  Judge, 
smiling  gallantly,  limped  forth,  on  his  nephew's  arm, 
and  settled  himself  in  the  waiting  nest  with  a  philo- 
sophical comment  to  the  effect  that  driving  was  the 
pleasantest  thing  to  do  on  a  day  like  this,  anyway! 
His  wife  established  herself  beside  him,  Stephen 
t®«k  the  wheel,  the  girls  ran  back  and  forth  in  a  fever 
of  sympathy  and  concern.  It  had  been  just  Uncle 
Sam's  familiar  backache  yesterday.  And  to-day  they 
were  talking  of  consultations  and  hospitals! 


194  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Mimi,  you've  been  wonderful,"  Stephen  said, 
with  his  brotherly  smile.  She  flashed  him  a  bright 
look;  like  all  women,  Mimi  loved  a  dramatic  role. 

"And  just  as  soon  as  the  doctor  says  it's  nothing, 
we'll  be  back!"  said  Aunt  Bessy,  peering  out  between 
the  side  supports. 

"Now,,  listen,  Aunt  Bessy,"  Marjorie  called.  "If 
you  don't  want  to  come  back  before  Thursday,  I  can 
just  as  well  put  off  the  Maine  trip!" 

"Oh,  yes,  let's  think  of  that,"  Stephen  said. 
"When  do  you  go,  Marjorie?" 

"Well,"  Marjorie  hesitated.  "Thursday,  don't  we, 
Mama?" 

"Well,  we  were"  her  mother  confirmed,  dubiously. 

"Then  you'd  better  drive  down  with  Fred — oh, 

dear — you  can't  very  well — that's — this  is  Sunday " 

Mrs.  Curran  fretted,  in  an  uneasy  stream,  when  Mimi 
interrupted  her,  with  that  charming  mixture  of 
authority  and  deference  that  Stephen  thought  so 
becoming. 

"Now,  just  don't  worry,  darling — we've  got  enough 
real  things  to  worry  about!  I'll  arrange  it,  I'll  do 
something — you'll  probably  be  back  here  yourselves 
to-morrow!  Or  maybe  Grace — no,  Grace  can't — 
but  maybe  Mrs.  Lombard  would  come  over  from 
Gunther's.  Anyway,  I'm  all  right,  I  could  stay  here 
alone  with  Matea,  for  that  matter,  so  just  don't 
worry- " 

"You  might  take  me  as  far  as  Farley's,  Steve," 
Fred  said,  suddenly  animated  at  Lucretia's  name, 
"I  haven't  seen  her  for  weeks!" 

"Oh,  I  thought  you  had  to  get  some  sleep,"  Mar- 
jorie jeered. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  195 

"Perhaps  I  had  better—  Fred  hesitated,  with  a 

rending  yawn.  Some  undefined  little  pain  in  Ste- 
phen's heart  disappeared.  He  pulled  on  a  dirty  glove, 
glanced  up  at  the  encircling  cup  of  the  woods,  dreaming 
in  motionless  midsummer  heat,  and  brought  his  eyes 
back  to  the  girls.  They  had  linked  arms  now,  slender 
figures  in  Sunday  white;  there  was  reassurance  and  even 
a  sort  of  tender  amusement  in  Mimi's  parting  look. 

When  the  car  had  slowly  started  down  the  grade, 
they  went  back  to  the  cabin,  got  into  their  thinnest  and 
coolest  attire,  and  lay  upon  their  beds,  in  the  burning 
descent  of  day,  in  Mimi's  shaded  bedroom.  Fred  had 
disappeared  with  a  yawning  mention  of  being  aroused 
when  there  was  any  question  of  food.  An  odd  strange- 
ness and  silence  descended  with  the  lingering  warm 
twilight  at  the  cabin;  Marjorie's  somewhat  mournful 
little  widowed  mother  reviewed  illnesses  of  all  sorts: 
Marjorie  reflected  that  unless  they  started  for  Maine 
on  Thursday  it  would  be  "no  fun"  to  go  to  Kenne- 
bunkport  at  all;  Mimi  told  her  dancing  heart  a  hundred 
times  that  she  had  been  everything  that  was  dignified 
and  composed  with  Stephen.  And  he  had  told  her  that 
she  was  wonderful! 

Perhaps  Marjorie  was  right,  perhaps  this  was  the 
way  of  true  love,  after  all! 


CHAPTE&  XXII 

THIS  was  Sunday  afternoon,  one  of  those  happy, 
unsuspicious  hours  so  strange  to  remember  in  a  life- 
time, so  impossible  to  regain.  On  Monday  night 
Fred  drove  Mimi  into  the  city,  a  sobered,  white- 
faced  Mimi  now,  and  all  of  them  spent  Tuesday  in  the 
echoing,  odorous  walls  of  a  great  hospital. 

While  dear  old  Uncle  Sam,  oddly  helpless  and  in- 
finitely dear,  in  his  buttoned  nightgown  and  with  his 
silver,  majestic  head,  was  upstairs  in  the  surgery,  Mimi 
and  Fred  and  Mrs.  Curran  sat  in  the  airy,  orderly  bed- 
room, and  Stephen  came  and  went  with  an  anxious 
face.  Nurses,  lining  the  bed  with  warmed  blankets, 
even  on  this  hot  day,  turned  the  immaculate  counter- 
pane down  in  a  long,  expert  fold,  and  murmured  to 
Aunt  Bessy,  who  was  trembling  and  paralyzed  with 
fear,  that  Mrs.  Stover  and  Mrs.  Fanning  and  Mrs. 
Porter  had  telephoned — just  to  send  love,  and  ask  if 
there  was  anything  they  could  do 

Noon  whistles  shrilled  in  the  burning  city  before  they 
brought  Sam  Curran  downstairs;  it  was  seven  o'clock 
that  night  when  Stephen  took  his  aunt  and  Mimi  to  a 
cool  little  supper  that  Lizzie,  tearfully  efficient,  had 
waiting  for  them  in  the  swathed  and  darkened  house. 

But  food  choked  Mrs.  Curran,  and  as  she  sat  at  the 
table  her  fat,  soft  face  was  blotched  and  bloated  with 
tears.  Nothing  definite  had  been  said,  and  after  a 
terrible  day  the  Judge  was  restlessly  and  brokenly 

196 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  197 

sleeping,  but  they  were  all  sobered  with  the  knowledge 
that  a  change  had  come  in  the  dear  familiar  ordering  of 
life. 

At  six  o'clock,  while  they  were  still  at  table  in  the 
deepening  warm  dusk,  Doctor  Sayre  was  announced. 
Mimi  gave  her  aunt  an  apprehensive  look.  They  all 
went  into  the  drawing-room,  Lizzie  sympathetically 
deft  in  the  raising  of  shades  and  grouping  of  chairs. 
Doctor  Sayre  sat  down  with  a  headshake  and  a  pre- 
liminary sigh,  fitting  his  eyeglasses  into  their  case  with 
careful  hands. 

Mrs.  Porter,  who  had  joined  them,  shook  her  head, 
too;  Mrs.  Curran  moaned  a  little  against  the  folded 
handkerchief  she  pressed  to  her  shaking  lips.  Mimi 
balanced  herself  upon  her  aunt's  chair,  one  arm  about 
the  older  woman's  shoulders. 

"You  stay  with  us,  Steve,  Mimi  needs  you/'  his 
aunt  whispered. 

"I  will,  Aunt  Bessy!" 

"We  all  need  you,"  faltered  Mrs.  Curran,  weeping. 

"What  do  you  think,  Doctor?"  Stephen  said,  cour- 
ageously. The  verdict  made  Mrs.  Curran  begin  to 
cry  quite  loudly.  Mimi  cried,  too,  and  Lizzie,  flying 
for  water,  was  also  in  tears.  Stephen  felt  his  own 
heart  sink  heavily;  Uncle  Sam  had  always  been  every- 
thing that  was  generous  and  good  to  his  sister's  children. 

It  might  be  one  month,  or  even  two,  the  doctor  told 
them.  But  it  would  probably  be  only  weeks.  The 
surgery  was  too  late,  years  too  late.  He  might  come 
home,  in  a  week  or  two,  might  have  September  and 
October  at  Red  Pine  even;  the  main  thing  was  to  keep 
him  from  fretting,  and  out  of  pain. 

Aghast,  the  young  persons  looked  seriously  at  each 


198  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

other.  And  Mimi  hated  herself  for  a  little  singing, 
soaring  recognition  of  one  more  bond  between  her  and 
Stephen.  They  would  all  need  her  now! 

"Oo-ooo,  no — no — no!"  moaned  Mrs.  Curran.  "Oh, 
Sammy — my  dear  good  Sam!" 

"Now,  please,  Aunt  Bessy!"  Mimi  was  fighting  her 
own  grief.  She  was  kneeling  on  the  floor  before  her 
aunt,  dabbling  the  quivering  face  with  her  own  hand- 
kerchief. 

Mrs.  Porter,  crying  helplessly,  took  the  chair  next  to 
Mrs.  Curran,  and  Mimi,  with  Fred  and  Stephen  and 
Lizzie  to  help,  took  control  of  the  situation  heroically. 
The  big  bedroom  upstairs  must  be  opened  and  pre- 
pared; they  must  all  school  themselves  to  the  loving 
insincerity  of  making  the  weeks  to  come  easy  for 
Uncle  Sam,  to  the  bitter  necessity  of  facing  this  in- 
credible change.  Mimi  and  Stephen  met  quite  natur- 
ally every  day,  a  dozen  times  a  day,  slipped  at  once 
into  an  easy,  affectionate  reliance  upon  each  other 
that  to  the  girl  at  least  was  reassuring  and  sweet. 

Mimi,  they  all  said,  was  wonderful.  It  was  one  of 
the  first  opportunities  life  had  given  her  to  be  of  ser- 
vice, and  she  rose  to  it  splendidly.  The  maids  turned 
to  her,  her  aunt  leaned  upon  her;  it  was  with  Mimi 
that  Doctor  Sayre  left  his  instructions,  and  it  was  to 
Mimi  that  Stephen  and  Fred  confided  their  opinions 
and  their  advice. 

She  went  about  the  quiet,  mournful  house,  a  little 
vision  of  efficiency  and  sweetness.  The  muffled  tele- 
phone must  be  answered,  there  were  lists  of  com- 
missions at  the  drug-store,  there  was  smoking  soup 
to  carry  to  poor  Aunt  Bessy,  there  were  conferences 
in  the  library  with  the  boys. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  199 

"You're  a  wonder,  Mimi!"  Fred  said. 

"I  don't  know  where  we'd  all  be  without  you!" 
Stephen  added,  almost  mechanically.  But  there  was 
a  quick  gleam  in  her  dark  eyes,  and  something  like  a 
smile  on  her  white  face,  in  reply. 

Seeing  her  so,  the  girl  thought  to  herself,  always 
busy,  and  beloved,  and  adequate,  he  must  come  to  love 
her.  This  was  not  pleasure,  now;  not  flirting  and  danc- 
ing as  they  had  flirted  and  danced  at  the  Country 
Club.  This  was  real,  this  time  of  danger,  illness,  and 
strain,  and  he  must  see  that  she  was  no  longer  the  old 
spoiled  little  butterfly  Mimi,  the  little  sister  who  en- 
joyed teasing  and  coquetting.  These  dark  days  v/ere 
filled  with  a  deep  happiness  for  Mimi;  she  had  put 
Stephen  out  of  her  life  honestly  enough,  but  circum- 
stances had  brought  him  back  again,  and  in  a  closer  and 
more  intimate  relation  than  they  had  ever  known  before. 

When  she  said  good-bye  to  him  at  the  front  door,  in 
the  morning,  it  was  almost  with  the  dutiful,  bright 
smile  of  a  wife. 

"You'll  get  some  fresh  air  to-day,  dear?  You  look 
pale,"  Stephen  would  say. 

"Marjorie  is  going  to  take  me  downtown  for  an  hour, 
for  a  little  shopping!" 

"Couldn't  I  meet  you  girls,  and  take  you  to  lunch?" 

"Oh,  Stephen,  I  think  not."  But  how  her  heart 
was  singing!  "I  don't  like  to  leave  Aunt  Bessy;  not 
until  we  get  another  nurse.  Will  you  be  home  for 
dinner?" 

"A  little  late — maybe.  Say  about  half-past  seven. 
Don't  wait!  If  you're  shopping,  have  you  plenty  of 
money?" 

And  so  on  and  on,  with  the  utter  simplicity  and  con- 


200  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

fidence  of  young  persons  drawn  together  by  a  common 
emergency  and  sorrow,  and  conscious,  under  their  grav- 
ity, of  the  joy  of  real  living — real  companionship. 

Mimi  found  herself  spared  all  the  embarrassing  ques- 
tions she  had  anticipated,  as  to  the  wedding  and  the 
immediate  plans.  Nobody  expected  her  to  do  more 
than  fill  this  daughterly  role,  while  the  Judge  lay  finger- 
ing between  life  and  death. 

When  they  brought  him  home,  he  was  full  of  innocent 
boyish  exultation  in  what  he  believed  was  to  be  a 
speedy  recuperation.  He  was  established  in  his  big 
walnut  bed,  and  the  whole  house  began  to  circle  about 
him.  Mimi  read  him  the  morning  paper,  Stephen  paid 
him  constant  visits,  discussed  local  politics  with  him 
endlessly,  and  his  wife  was  never  long  away  from  his 
side.  Every  night  of  sleep  that  he  enjoyed,  and  every 
dainty  little  meal  that  came  upstairs  to  him,  deepened 
his  sense  of  triumph  over  illness,  and  made  him  happy. 
And  while  this  state  of  affairs  went  on,  Mimi  knew 
that  the  question  of  the  wedding  was  definitely  shelved. 

Sometimes  she  would  sit  thoughtful  in  the  sick- 
room, sewing  or  reading,  glancing  now  and  then  toward 
the  drowsing  gray  head  in  the  pillows.  She  would  de- 
liberately review  the  day,  remembering  every  minute 
of  it  that  touched  upon  Stephen.  She  had  worn  her 
pink  cotton,  when  she  poured  his  coffee  for  him  at 
eight  o'clock,  in  a  lovely  morning  twinkle  of  sunshine, 
and  glass  and  silver  and  rose-flowered  china.  They 
had  talked  of  the  book  he  was  reading,  and  the  gang- 
ster case;  and  Mimi  c*uld  see  now  every  expression  of 
the  clean-shaven,  pleasant  face,  anil  the  shrewd,  fine 
gray  eyes.  He  had  laid  his  warm  hand  over  her  «rwn, 
finding  her  a  special  line  in  a  book  he  had  given  her. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  201 

Had  she  heard  rain  in  the  night?  There  had  been  a 
storm.  Would  she  see  that  Emma  got  his  brown  suit 
to  the  cleaner?  And  many  thanks  about  the  drop- 
light,  it  was  working  perfectly  again. 

All  so  domestic,  so  unutterably  sweet  to  the  heart 
of  a  girl  who  had  never  had  a  mother  or  father,  a  brother 
or  sister  of  her  own! 

Then  she  had  seen  him  off  at  the  door,  and  she  had 
been  dusting  the  drawing-room  for  Lizzie,  an  hour 
or  two  later,  when  he  had  made  the  dim  sweetness  of 
its  chairs  and  tables  wonderful  by  suddenly  coming  in 
to  see  Aunt  Bessy  about  some  important  bit  of  business 
touching  Uncle  Sam's  personal  affairs. 

There  was  another  little  conference  between  Stephen 
and  herself.  What  had  the  doctor  said?  How  was 
Lizzie  acting — any  more  talk  of  going  to  her  sick 
sister  ? 

"You're  a  trump,  Mimi!"  he  often  said,  when  he 
went  away.  . 

"He  doesn't  know  it!"  the  girl  would  exult,  turning 
back  to  her  duties,  "but  he  is  growing  nearer  to  me 
all  the  time!  He  will  miss  all  this,  when  things  are 
normal  again.  And  then,  I  wonder  if  he'll  really 
care,  this  time!" 

She  would  fall  into  sorrowful  musing;  had  he  ever 
really  asked  her  to  be  his  wife?  Had  she  so  lightly 
accepted  that  prospect,  as  one  of  the  happy,  trium- 
phant things  of  her  happy,  triumphant  life!  Mimi 
knew  better  now.  The  mere  thought  of  that  old 
surety  made  her  heart  ache,  and  when  she  saw,  in  a 
closet  or  bureau,  one  of  the  gowns  or  blouses  she  had 
worn  in  that  unbelievably  glorious  time  of  flowers 
and  congratulations  and  engagement  presents,  last 


202  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

mid-winter,  she  felt  a  pain  at  her  heart.  She  hated 
the  relentless  calendar  that  made  this  seven  and  eight 
and  nine  months  in  the  past! 

Twenty-three — and  thirty — and  thirty-five;  the  years 
menaced  her  with  spinsterhood.  If  anything  went 
wrong  between  her  and  Stephen,  she  would  be  an  old 
maid  all  her  life!  Was  this  the  way,  the  girl  wondered, 
in  which  such  tragedies  began? 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

JUST  two  weeks  after  the  operation,  the  Judge  was 
moved  back  to  the  cabin  on  Red  Pine,  and  everyone 
told  him  that  his  convalescence  was  nothing  less  than 
an  absolute  miracle!  Now  he  must  be  patient,  must 
reconcile  himself  to  idle  days  under  the  trees,  and  must 
make  haste  slowly  where  getting  up,  and  entering  upon 
anything  like  business  responsibilities  were  concerned. 

Happy  and  unsuspecting,  he  let  them  settle  him  in 
wicker  chairs  or  hammocks;  the  Jenkinses  only  returned 
to  the  mountains  for  an  occasional  week-end;  Marjorie 
Rutger  and  her  mother  were  still  in  Maine;  the  cabins, 
other  than  their  own,  were  shut.  But  Fred  and  Ste- 
phen and  Ted  came  more  constantly  than  ever,  and 
Mimi  showered  upon  her  adored  old  guardian  a  love 
and  loyalty  that  filled  his  days  to  the  brim.  One  day 
she  wrote  to  ask  Mrs.  Lombard  to  spend  Saturday  and 
Sunday  with  them. 

Mrs.  Lombard  did  not  answer  by  note,  but  she  rode 
the  six  miles  over  the  mountain,  coming  in  upon  them 
on  a  quiet,  mid-week  afternoon.  She  wore  a  dust- 
colored  habit  and  a  small  black  hat;  she  drew  heavy 
gauntlets  from  her  fine  hands  as  Mimi  ran  to  greet 
her. 

The  girl  was  extraordinarily  glad  to  see  her  visitor; 
she  had  forgotten  how  charming  and  how  stimulating 
she  had  always  found  the  older  woman's  society. 
Now,  in  these  quiet  solitary  days,  with  only  lonely 

203 


204  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

walks  between  Monday  and  Friday,  and  reading  to 
Uncle  Sam,  and  long  conferences  with  tremulous, 
anxious  Aunt  Bessy,  it  seemed  delicious  to  hear  the 
firm,  quiet  voice  again,  to  tell  their  troubles  to  a  new 
listener,  and  to  lead  Mrs.  Lombard  in  triumph  to 
Uncle  Sam. 

She  sat  down  beside  him,  and  they  began  to  talk  of 
books  and  people,  the  old  man's  admiring  eyes  upon 
her  glowing  summer  beauty,  faintly  flushed  cheeks 
under  the  warm  tan  skin,  crushed  glittering  hair  when 
she  took  off  her  small  hat. 

"Do  stay — but  could  you? — and  have  supper  with 
us,  Mrs.  Lombard,"  Mrs.  Curran  said,  in  a  flutter  of 
pleasure. 

"Stay  overnight!"  Mimi  amended,  eagerly.  Lu- 
cretia  looked  hesitatingly  from  one  to  the  other. 
"Only  I  wanted  you  this  week-end,  too,"  the  girl  told 
her  guest,  hospitably,  "because  the  Roy  Newells, 
and  their  baby,  and  of  course  Stephen  and  Fred  and 
Ted  Rutger,  are  all  coming  up!" 

"Week-ends  are  bad  for  me,"  Lucretia  said,  re- 
gretfully. Mrs.  Curran  looked  at  her  expectantly, 
but  she  gave  no  reason.  "Thank  you,  but  I  can 
never  come  week-ends!"  she  said,  firmly.  "But  to- 
night I  should  love  to  stay!"  And  she  went  back  to 
her  previous  reasoning  with  the  Judge.  "It  takes  a 
long  time  to  rally  from  these  things,  you  know.  You 
must  be  content  with  very  slow  progress  for  awhile. 
You  get  a  sort  of  reaction  from  the  opiates  and  the 
narcotics,  and  that  deceives  you." 

"You've  had  experience  with  these  things?"  Mrs. 
Curran  said,  with  her  pathetic  eagerness.  "That's 
just  what  we  tell  him!" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  205 

"Oh,  after  an  operation —  Mimi  loved  her  for 

not  quoting  her  husband's  case;  the  case  she  did  pres- 
ently mention  was  one  with  a  successful  ending. 

The  Judge,  who  loved  pretty  young  women,  was 
enchanted  with  her,  and  Mrs.  Curran — over  Mimi's 
quick  protest — asked  her  before  supper  if  she  could 
come  and  stay  with  them  again,  this  time  for  four 
or  five  nights,  next  week.  Mrs.  Porter  could  not 
come,  and  one  or  two  other  friends  were  out  of  town, 
and  Mimi  had  been  asked  to  go  on  a  week's  trip  by 
motor-car,  up  into  the  Vermont  mountains.  But 
Mimi  did  not  like  to  leave  Aunt  Bessy  with  just  old 
Matea  and  Lizzie,  who  were  not  much  use  in  any 
emergency.  On  Friday,  of  course,  the  boys  would 
come  up— 

Mrs.  Lombard  accepted  with  real  pleasure.  They 
were  very  sweet  to  make  her  happy  by  suggesting  that 
they  needed  her,  even  in  this  wholly  simple  and  pleas- 
ant capacity,  she  said. 

"Only,  I  must  go  back  to  Ma  Gunther  on  Friday 
morning,"  she  said.  "I  manage  her  books  for  her,  over 
these  crowded  week-ends,  keep  account  of  extra 
lunches  and  dinners  and  rooms — she  hasn't  much 
system,  the  dear  old  thing.  I  didn't  think  /  had— 

She  rambled  on  into  reminiscences  of  her  book- 
keeping stupidities  where  foreign  currencies  and  terms 
were  concerned.  Presently  she  helped  them  move 
the  Judge's  paraphernalia  into  the  cabin.  Matea 
grinned  at  her  affectionately;  Lizzie  confided  to  Mimi 
that  you  could  see  that  Mrs.  Lombard  was  "one  that 
had  always  had."  At  the  dinner  table,  the  trained, 
beautiful  voice  led  them  all  into  eager  and  interested 
talk,  and  Lucretia's  girlish  enjoyment  of  her  little 


206  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

visit  added  the  last  touch  of  satisfaction  to  Mrs. 
Curran's  approval  of  her. 

In  the  evening  Mimi  was  directed  to  write  a  note  to 
Stephen,  to  tell  him  that  everything  was  going  splen- 
didly with  Uncle  Sam.  Mrs.  Curran  went  to  sleep 
in  her  chair,  and  Lucretia  found  her  old  host  in  an  ex- 
pansive mood. 

"You  know  my  nephew  Steve  Winship,  of  course, 
the  district  attorney?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed!"  Lucretia  glanced  toward  the 
dining-room,  where  Mimi  was  scribbling  under  a 
warm  red  lamplight.  She  and  the  Judge,  and  his  lightly 
slumbering  wife,  were  on  the  dark  porch. 

"I  was  afraid  that  my  being  laid  up  would  change 
those  children's  wedding  plans!"  said  the  Judge. 
"But  I  don't  see  that  it  need,  now." 

He  sounded  the  last  phrase  with  something  like  a 
questioning  intonation,  and  Lucretia,  who  was  in  the 
family  conspiracy  to  keep  him  happy,  answered  se- 
renely: 

"I  don't  see  why  it  should.  Operations  are  ex- 
tremely common  nowadays.  And  we  have  to  fit  the 
other  things  in  with  them,  that's  all!" 

"Exactly!"  said  the  Judge,  with  satisfaction. 
"They'll  be  married  before  Christmas!"  he  added, 
confidentially,  with  a  little  jerk  of  his  head  in  Mimi's 
direction.  "Next  year  will  be  a  big  year  for  the  boy. 
I  needn't  hesitate  to  tell  you  that  the  party  has  him 
slated  for — well,  for  Washington.  Exactly  what  we 
need,  you  know.  Young,  clever " 

"Senator?"  Mrs.   Lombard   said,   after  a  moment. 

"I  hope  so.  And  the  little  girl  will  help  him — 
they've  known  each  other  all  their  lives!  She's 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  207 

always  looked  up  to  him.  His  father  was  a  brilliant 
fellow,  John  Winship.  But  unstable — unstable.  This 
boy  knew  what  responsibility  and  sorrow  were — at  an 
age  when  most  boys  are  children.  He  took  it  upon 
himself— 

The  Judge  choked,  laughed,  and  fumbled  for  his 
handkerchief. 

"I  am  sure  he  did!"  Lucretia  said,  warmly,  and  he 
saw  the  glint  of  her  shining  eyes  in  the  gloom. 

"Took  it  all  upon  himself,"  the  Judge  said,  with 
emotion.  "He  gave  up  his  school  when  he  was  four- 
teen— he  was  twenty-one  before  he  could  give  all  his 
time  to  his  law  courses.  John  Winship  left  debts, 
this  boy  paid  them.  He  used  to  come  into  my  office, 
shabby  little  fellow,  with  that  same  keen  look  on  his 
face  that  he  has  now 

"I  know!"  she  said,  under  her  breath.  And  she 
laid  one  hand  upon  her  heart.  ' 

"Bessy  and  I  had  Fred  in  a  military  school  then," 
resumed  the  Judge.  *  Steve  was  boarding  with  an 
Irishwoman  down  by  the  Cutler  Bridge;  she  had  boys 
of  her  own,  but  he  was  her  real  help.  He  used  to  carve 
the  joints  and  manage  her  affairs,  and  coach  her  sons 
with  their  arithmetic.  And  he  was  teaching  night 
school  then.  Yes,  sir,"  finished  the  Judge,  half  to 
himself,  "that  boy  has  come  a  long  way,  and  we'll 
see  him  go  a  long  way  further!" 

"Steve—  "  Lucretia  murmured,  her  voice  lingering 
on  the  sound. 

"I  used  to  ask  him  to  come  and  stay  with  us,  his 
aunt  has  always  loved  him,"  said  the  Judge.  "No; 
he  wouldn't  do  that.  Independent — always  standing 
on  his  own  feet.  Mimi — she  was  a  cute  little  thing 


208  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

then,  smartest  little  girl  I  ever  saw! — Mimi  would  ask 
him  to  come  and  stay.  No  use!  Well,  sir,  one  night 
there  was  some  sort  of  mass  meeting  at  the  Civic 
Centre,  and  if  my  boy  doesn't  stand  up  and  make  a 
speech — it  was  the  speech  of  the  evening,  too!  We'd 
always  thought  that  Fred  was  the  one  for  that  sort 
of  thing.  I'm  proud  of  him,"  the  old  man  broke  off  to 
say,  emphatically,  "I'll  not  deny  that  I  think  the  boy 
has  a  great  future!  He's  young,  he's  straight,  and 
he's  the  most  brilliant  young  attorney  that  Sanbridge 
has  ever  produced.  I  hope  we're  going  to  send  him 
to  Washington.  I  told  them  so.  'Gentlemen/  I 
said,  'I  am  not  backing  your  District  Attorney  for  any 
personal  reason.  I  am  not  espousing  his  candidacy 
because  he  is  my  sister's  child.  I  ask  you  to 
look  at  the  public  record  of  Stephen  Winship iv 

The  golden-brown  head,  a  glimmer  in  the  soft  sum- 
mer darkness,  had  not  moved.  Lucretia's  hands  were 
locked  in  her  lap,  her  steady  eyes  were  fixed  on  space. 

"Well,  give  an  old  lawyer  a  chance  to  make  a 
speech!"  the  Judge  laughed,  apologetically.  "How- 
ever, you  know  the  boy,  and  you  can  imagine  that  he 
means  a  good  deal  to  us.  His  father  and  Mimi's 
father  were  warm  friends.  I  don't  believe  Jim  Warren, 
—Mimi's  father — saw  this  coming — no,  I  can't  say 
that,  for  Mimi  was  a  mere  baby  when  he  and  her  mother 
died.  But  I  can  say,  that  out  of  all  the  world,  the 
man  to  whom  I  can  most  happily  give  her,  is  John 
Winship's  son!  The  day  of  their  wedding  will  be 
the  happiest  day  of  my  life.  They  can  take  the  old 
hulk  back  to  the  hospital,  and  take  another  whack 
at  it,  as  soon  as  they  like,  after  that!v 

He  ended  on  a  whimsical  laugh,  and  he  could  see  a 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  209 

sympathetic  smile  on  the  beautiful  face  in  the  shadows. 

"The  boy  is  thirty,  he  needs  his  wife,"  he  said, 
comfortably.  "She'll  be  a  great  help  to  him — stand 
right  behind  him!  Well,  look  here — look  here — look 
here!"  he  said,  as  Mimi  came  out,  blinking  and  yawn- 
ing, and  settled  herself  at  his  knee.  His  old  hand 
fingered  her  dark  head.  "How  about  it — did  you  get 
in  the  row  of  kisses  all  along  the  bottom  of  the  letter?" 
he  asked. 

"Uncle  Sam,  I'm  surprised  at  your  crudeness!" 
Mimi  said,  severely,  kissing  the  hand  she  held  in  both 
her  own.  "Kisses!  Can  you  imagine  a  sweet,  wo- 
manly woman  sending  scalloped  kisses  to  a  district 
attorney!  Especially,"  she  added,  turning  toward 
Lucretia,  "especially  as  Stephen  is  the  worst  corres- 
pondent in  the  world!  About  once  a  week  we  have  a 
line,  and  that's  all." 

"Men  are  very  bad  about  that,"  Lucretia  said, 
uneasily.  She  had  a  letter,  a  book,  or  a  marked  maga- 
zine from  him  every  day  of  her  life,  and  sometimes  a 
bit  of  lace,  a  nosegay  of  English  primroses  in  lace  paper, 
or  even  a  flat  little  box  of  some  special  confection  as  well. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  didn't  write  Steve  at  all;. 
I  wrote  Marjorie  about  coming  up  to  Kennebunkport 
next  week!"  Mimi  announced. 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  write  Steve!"  Mrs. 
Curran's  voice  said,  unexpectedly. 

"Well,  I  was.  But  I  want  him  to  manage  tickets 
and  things  for  me  to-morrow,  and  it  seems  better  to 
telephone,  and  be  sure  he  gets  it  in  time!"  Mimi  an- 
swered, a  little  airily. 

"You  and  he  haven't  quarrelled,  dear?"  Mrs.  Currant 
asked,  half-seriously. 


210  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Darling,  what  should  we  quarrel  about!"  But 
Mimi's  laugh  was  a  little  unnatural,  and  Lucretia  knew 
it.  "Stephen  is  an  extremely  busy  man,"  the  girl 
said,  turning  to  Lucretia,  "and  he  actually  has  not 
the  time  to  spend  on  letters." 

"Swelterin'  there  in  that  hot  city!"  his  aunt  added, 
resentfully. 

"Last  Thursday,  when  there  was  such  an  awful 
storm,"  Mimi  contributed,  "we  tried  to  get  hold  of 
him.  Do  you  remember  that  storm  that  came  up  at 
about  three  o'clock?" 

"I  was  in  the  city,"  Mrs.  Lombard  said.  "I  had  to 
go  in  on  a  matter  connected  with  Allen's  estate.  I 
remember  it  very  well!" 

And  she  remembered  more,  as  she  spoke :  remembered 
driving  with  Stephen  under  sulphurous  purple  clouds, 
up  and  up  into  the  menaced  hills  outside  the  city, 
remembered  the  livid  flashes  and  the  rocking  detona- 
tions, remembered  racing  ahead  of  the  first  drops  into 
the  shelter  of  a  mild-faced  old  farmhouse,  and  the  far- 
mer's wife  who  thought  she  and  Stephen  were  married, 
and  who  gave  them  a  delicious  late  luncheon  or  early 
dinner  at  four  o'clock,  with  whole-wheat  bread  and 
Jersey  milk  and  scrambled  eggs  and  wonderful  yellow 
peaches.  She  remembered  driving  home  under  a 
rapidly  clearing  sky,  the  setting  sun  splitting  the  pur- 
ple west  with  rays  of  gold,  every  leaf  twinkling,  every 
wayside  pool  giving  back  the  racing  white  of  clouds, 
steam  smoking  upward  into  the  tonic  air  from  farm- 
stead roofs  and  haycocks.  The  voice  whose  every 
note  she  loved  beside  her,  the  odor  of  her  own  drying 
homespun  suit  mingling  with  a  thousand  other  odors 
of  woods  and  roadside,  the  delight  of  languor  and 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

happiness,  and  the  sense  that  one  more  perfect  memory 
was  added  to  their  list — these  she  must  always  remem- 
ber! 

"You  got  caught  in  it?"  queried  Mrs.  Curran. 

"Not — not  unpleasantly.  I  liked  it.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Cutter,  from  Mrs.  Gunther's,  drove  back  to  the  farm 
at  about  six,  and  brought  me  with  them.  It  was 
wonderful  then — so  fresh  and  sweet!" 

"Mimi  was  just  sick  worrying  about  Steve,"  the 
old  lady  said,  mildly.  Mimi  qualified  the  remark  an 
hour  or  two  later  when  she  came  to  the  door,  in  her 
wrapper,  for  a  last  good-night.  Lucretia  was  in  bed, 
placidly  turning  the  pages  of  a  book. 

"Aunt  Bessy  says  I  worry  about  Steve — I  don't!" 
Mimi  stated,  shutting  the  door  behind  her,  and  be- 
ginning to  brush  vigorously  under  her  short,  silky 
black  locks.  "They  say  that  this  stimulates  the  scalp; 
do  you  believe  it?"  she  added,  sitting  down  on  the 
foot  of  the  bed. 

Lucretia  recognized  a  confidential  mood,  and  her 
spirit  felt  a  chill. 

"I  should  think  that  whirling  brain  of  yours  would 
be  a  sufficient  stimulation,"  she  suggested.  "In  any 
case,  your  hair  is  delightfully  bushy!" 

"Yours,"  said  Mimi,  simply,  looking  at  the  tawny 
rope  of  it,  "is  gorgeous!" 

"My  mother  had  a  fearful  and  wonderful  Southern 
treatment,  by  which  one's  head  was  saturated  with 
kerosene,  once  a  year,  for  three  successive  nights," 
Lucretia  observed,  thoughtfully. 

"No,  but  about  Steve,"  Mimi  digressed,  suddenly. 
"I  am — well,  I  think  I  am  foolish,  and  Marjorie  does, 
but  I  can't  help  it!" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"You  mean  you  do  worry ? ';  Lucretia  said,  seriously. 
"You  think  that  he  is  working  too  hard?" 

"No,  not  about  that,  exactly.  But  Steve — Steve 
isn't  demonstrative,  you  know!" 

The  memory  of  his  gripping  arms,  his  hot,  almost 
angry  kisses,  was  in  the  other  woman's  mind  as  she 
spoke. 

"I  see!"  she  said,  slowly. 

"He  never  has  been,"  explained  Mimi.     "He  is  the 
dearest — well,"  she  broke  off,  shamefacedly,  "/  think 
he  is  the  dearest  person  in  the  world!"  she  amended. 
"Of  course  you  do!" 

"  Do  you  think — tell  me,  I  can't  ask  any  one  else,  and 
you  have  been  married,  and  you  are  so  wise,"  the  girl 
said,  impulsively,  "do  you — does — do  you  think  it  all 
comes  right  afterward,  for  a  man  like  that,  when — 
when  the  girl  knows  that  she  cares,  even  if  perhaps  the 

man !" 

"Cares  more  than  he  does,  you  mean?"  Lucretia 
Lombard  said,  quietly,  laying  her  hand  over  Mimi's 
hand. 

The  girl  laughed,  but  she  had  to  swallow  tears,  and 
there  was  a  glint  of  them  on  her  dark  lashes  when  she 
answered. 

"Yes,  but  you  see  I  know  Steve — I've  known  him 
all  my  life!  He  took  me  to  my  first  football  game,  he 
gives  me  all  my  money,  I  tell  him  everything!  And 
I  know  that  he  isn't  the  sort  of  man  who  tears  his  hair, 
and  writes  sonnets,  and  threatens  to  kill  himself! 
He  would  never  do  that.  It  isn't  in  him.  Fred 
might — but  Stephen  wouldn't.  Why,  he  likes  all 
the  girls,  he's  never  paid  attention  to  any  one  but  me! 
There  was  a  woman  years  ago,  an  awfully  nice  woman 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  213 

here,  with  two  young  boys — she  was  forty  when 
Steve  was  twenty-two,  I  think,  and  we  used  to  tease  him 
about  Mrs.  Henderson,  and  about  being  the  boys' 
stepfather,  but  that  was  just  a  joke!  She  married  a 
doctor  in  Chicago,  and  I  don't  think  he  cared  a  bit! 
He  isn't  the — the  caring  kind.  And  I  know  this," 
finished  Mimi,  youthfully,  "I  know  that  he  does  give 
me  everything  he  can — nobody  else  could  ever  have 
more,  if  you  know  what  I  mean  ? " 

"If  you  are  sure  of  that,  Mimi "  Lucretia  began, 

and  stopped. 

"Oh,  I'm  positive!"  Mimi  answered,  more  sure 
every  minute.  "And  I  think  I  am  just  imaginative 
and  silly,"  she  added,  sensibly,  the  brush  busy  again. 
"I  suppose  all  girls  are  like  that  when  they  are  en- 
gaged! They  think  he  cares  too  much,  or  they  think 
he  cares  too  little!  I  wish  I  could  stop  it,  and  just 
remember  that  we've  liked  each  other  all  our  lives, 
and  that  we're  going  to  be  married!" 

"The  probability  is,"  Lucretia  said,  in  a  silence, 
"that  most  marriages  would  be  far,  far  happier  than 
they  are,  if  they  began  on  that  basis!" 

"Well,  of  course!"  Mimi  was  completely  reassured 
now.  The  two  young  women  fell  to  discussing  the 
Judge's  disorder  in  cautious  undertones,  and  its  effect 
upon  Stephen's  and  Mimi's  plans. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MIMI  went  to  Maine  a  few  days  later,  and  Lucretia 
duly  came  and  stayed  with  Mrs.  Curran  and  the 
Judge.  The  visit  began  on  a  Wednesday,  and  for  the 
first  time  that  summer  Stephen  ran  up  to  the  cabin  for 
Thursday  night,  delighting  and  surprising  his  uncle 
and  aunt.  He  addressed  the  visitor  quite  simply  as 
"Lucretia";  she  had  chanced  to  meet  him  on  the  road, 
she  explained,  outside  the  gate,  and  they  entered  the 
house  together. 

In  the  twilight,  just  before  dinner,  she  was  delegated 
to  take  him  and  show  him  the  blackberries.  They 
walked  up  under  the  dusty,  laden  apple-trees  to- 
gether; a  summery  sweetness  and  silence  held  the 
mountain-top;  smoke  drifted  from  the  cabin  chimney; 
bees  wove  dizzy  roadways  through  the  thick  sunset 
light.  Shadows  were  long  and  clear,  the  orchard  was  a 
dazzle  of  shine  and  shade. 

"Steve,  we've  had  the  joy  of  finding  each  other," 
Lucretia  said,  "now  it's  going  to  be  pain  and  trouble — 
all  the  way.  I  can't — I  can't  go  on  with  it,  my  dear. 
I  can't  ruin  Mimi's  life,  and  yours,  and  your  uncle's 
dearest  hopes  for  you " 

"You  are  too  late,  Lucretia,"  he  said,  with  his 
quiet  smile. 

"Your  career, your  Senatorship "  she  began  again. 

"The  Senatorship  is  extremely  problematic,"  he 
told  her,  unruffled.  "And  as  for  the  career — you 

214 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  215 

are  my  career!  You  are  my  fate.  This  was  the  way 
it  had  to  be!" 

She  was  following  an  upward  trail  through  scrub 
pines,  now  she  turned,  and  the  glorious  eyes  met  his 
wistfully,  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"No,  it  didn't.  What  have  I  to  give  you,  Steve?" 
she  asked.  "Why  did  I  have  to  come  along,  to  upset 
everything  ? " 

"It's  love,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

Tears  came  into  Lucretia's  eyes. 

"You're  so  sweet,  Steve,"  she  said,  trying  to  laugh, 
as  she  again  began  to  move  restlessly  beside  him. 
"And  it  seems  such  a  terrible  pity  that  you  couldn't 
have  gone  on  in  the  way  you  should  go!  It  makes 
me  feel  so  horribly — this  waiting  for  the  blow  to 
fall,  for  your  uncle  to  die,  for  Mimi  to  realize  that  you 
love  another  woman!  I  don't  know  what  to  do  about 
it,  except  to  get  out,  perhaps — — 

"I  should  follow  you,"  he  said,  steadily. 

"Or  marry  someone  else!"  she  finished  her  sentence 
bitterly. 

"Then  I  should  kill  him,"  Stephen  said. 

"I  have  no  doubt!"  Her  laugh  was  full  of  pain. 
"What  is  this  love,"  she  asked,  "that  makes  it  worth 
while  for  us  to  break  up  so  many  lives?" 

"Lucretia,  don't  talk  so,"  he  said,  really  distressed. 

"It's  selfishness — that's  what  love  is!"  she  said, 
rebelliously.  "All  selfishness!" 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  you  like  this,"  Stephen 
said,  his  arresting  hand  holding  her  beside  him,  as  he 
watched  her  with  troubled  eyes. 

"I  have  my  desperate  times!"  She  tried  to  laugh 
again.  "Stephen,  I'm  almost  twenty-nine,"  she  said, 


216  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

with  a  trace  of  angry  tears,  "and  I  want  to  be  happy! 
I  want  people  to  be  glad  you  married  me,  not  always 
critical  and  resentful.  The  women  you  know  will 
never  forgive  me,  and  the  men  will  say  that  you  threw 
your  political  chances  away!  You'll  come  to  see  it, 
too.  We'll  have  a  little  apartment  somewhere,  one 
maid — you'll  remember  then  all  Mimi  could  give  you!" 

"Please  don't  talk  so!"  he  said,  displeased  and  hurt. 

"Why  don't  you  marry  your  devoted,  domestic, 
lovely  Mimi,"  Lucretia  pursued,  spurred  by  some 
fretting  impulse  she  could  not  define.  "I  don't 
belong  here — I  might  marry  Fred.  Everyone  would 
be  pleased  with  that!" 

"I  don't  know  you  when  you  are  like  this!"  He 
stopped  her,  and  held  her  by  the  shoulders,  trying  to 
read  her  unhappy  eyes.  "Lucretia,  you  didn't  talk 
like  this  when  we  were  so  happy,  up  at  Gunther's!" 

"It's  always  different,  just  in  the  beginning!"  she 
said,  cruelly. 

Stephen  turned  pale,  he  felt  his  throat  dry. 

"Dearest  woman,  don't  spoil  the  little,  little  time 
we  have  together  by  talking  in  this  way.  You  know 
we  have  to  go  back  in  a  few  minutes " 

"Back  to  Mimi!"  she  supplied,  with  a  brief  laugh. 

Stephen  dropped  his  hands,  turned  toward  the 
house. 

"I  think  we  had  better  go  back  now,"  he  said. 
"Fm  sorry  you  feel  so  unhappy.  It  is  only  a  question 
of  a  little  patience  for  us,  and  then  we  can  show  all  the 
world  what  we  mean  to  each  other.  If  you  will  con- 
sent, I  will  tell  them  all — this  afternoon,  now! — that 
you  and  I " 

"That  you  have  fallen  in  love  with  that  strange 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  217 

blonde  widow  who  lives  down  in  Kingsgreen  Square," 
she  supplied,  still  mutinous,  "and  that  you  have 
thrown  Mimi  Warren  over,  and  that  the  week  in  which 
your  uncle  may  perhaps  die  is  the  one  in  which  you 
choose  to  break  the  glad  tidings!" 

His  distress,  as  he  stood  looking  at  her  in  stupe- 
faction, made  her  laugh  suddenly,  and  the  laughter 
broke  on  a  note  strangely  like  tears.  She  sat  down 
upon  a  crumbling  bit  of  orchard  wall,  and  he  knelt 
beside  her.  And  this  time  she  hid  her  face  in  his 
shoulder,  and  lay  quiet  while  he  kissed  the  fragrant 
crown  of  her  hair. 

After  a  few  minutes  she  began  to  talk  to  him,  in 
murmur  so  sweet,  and  at  once  so  childish  and  so  wise, 
that  everything  in  the  world  vanished  from  his  con- 
sciousness except  that  they  were  together,  and  that 
they  loved  each  other.  And  presently  she  raised  her 
wet  face,  and  laughed  at  him  through  the  marvellous 
velvety  brown  lashes  that  were  clinging  together  with 
tears,  and  told  him  that  she  was  "sorry". 

An  ecstasy  of  love  poured  through  him;  he  was  as 
exhausted  as  she  from  the  storm,  and  for  a  long  while 
they  were  motionless,  holding  each  other  close. 

"My  darling,  you  kill  me  when  you  say  things 
like  that!" 

She  fingered  a  wave  of  his  hair. 

"Like  what?" 

"Like — what  you  said — that  you  were  always  this 
way  in  the  beginning!" 

"Well,  but,  Stephen,  one  has  had  other  beaux,  you 
know!" 

She  was  laughing,  but  he  could  not  even  smile. 

"Lucretia — please!     It  makes  me  so  unhappy!" 


218  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry!"  The  rich  bubble  of  laughter  was 
in  her  rain-washed  voice. 

"And  that  you  would  marry  Fred!"  he  pursued 
reproachfully. 

"Well,  wouldn't  that  be  nice?  I  would  be  your 
little  sister " 

" That's — sacrilege!"     He  kissed  the  red  mouth. 

"Then  forget  that  I  said  it.     I'll  never  say  it  again!" 

Stephen  could  forget  it  for  these  few  minutes  while 
he  was  with  her,  but  the  wretchedness  of  jealousy 
returned  again,  after  awhile,  and  again  and  again. 
When  she  was  out  of  his  sight  he  was  hungering  for 
her,  her  words  came  back  to  him  again  and  again: 
"We've  had  the  joy  of  finding  each  other — now  it 
will  be  all  pain  and  trouble!"  All  the  agonies  of  first, 
passionate  love  beset  him;  her  least  word  would  make 
him  unhappy  or  enchant  him  for  hours. 

Everything  tended  to  make  his  pathway  difficult. 
The  Judge's  days,  if  not  hours,  were  numbered.  There 
was  a  great  deal  to  arrange,  Mimi's  affairs  primarily, 
a  hundred  other  odds  and  ends  of  legal  business,  and 
these  brought  Mimi  and  Stephen  into  constant  con- 
tact. He  knew  the  girl  too  well  not  to  know  exactly 
what  her  demure,  self-forgetting,  affectionate  response 
to  his  demands  meant;  Mimi  felt  that  his  difficult 
explanation  of  his  own  feeling,  to  her,  on  that  Sunday 
afternoon,  had  been  just  one  of  trie  ordinary  exigencies 
of  courtship.  She  was  patient,  she  was  everything 
sweet  and  good,  but  she  knew  that  the  irresistible 
currents  of  both  their  lives  were  steadily  bringing  them 
together. 

Lucretia  felt  those  currents,  too,  the  unchangeable 
stream  of  habit,  policy,  propinquity,  and  family  loy- 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  219 

alty  that  was  carrying  him  slowly  away  from  her. 
Everything  was  against  them,  and  sometimes,  with 
humility  and  discouragement,  she  longed  for  the  old 
days  again,  the  very  beginnings,  when  to  have  Mr. 
Stephen  Winship  come  to  her  for  a  cup  of  tea  and 
a  talk  about  books  was  quiet  pleasure  enough,  and  when 
this  question  of  unhappiness  and  disruption  did  not 
haunt  her  day  and  night. 

"I — taking  away  another  woman's  lover?"  she  would 
ask  herself,  with  a  bitter  shame  at  her  heart.  And  a 
few  days  after  her  meeting  with  Stephen  at  the  cabin 
on  Red  Pine,  when  he  came  away  from  the  hot  city 
and  joined  her  at  Gunther's,  she  could  only  show 
him  a  mood  that  moved  restlessly  between  unkindness 
and  despair. 

There  was  none  of  that  first  exquisite  happiness 
in  this  meeting.  Lucretia  was  distressed  because  every- 
one at  Mrs.  Gunther's,  she  said,  would  suspect  that 
he  came  to  see  her.  Everyone  knew  that  there  was 
an  understanding  between  him  and  Miss  Warren  and 
that  if  he  had  a  mid-week  holiday,  it  should  be  spent 
at  Warren's  Mills. 

In  vain  he  tried  to  soothe  her;  even  his  arm,  laid 
across  the  back  of  her  chair,  in  the  summer-house, 
annoyed  her.  The  August  afternoon  was  burning  hot, 
the  country  boarding-house  looked  tawdry  and  shabby 
in  the  blazing  light.  Butter  was  almost  liquid  on  the 
supper  table,  and  the  dry  cut  bread  curled  at  the  edges. 

"It  makes  me  feel  horrible!  It  makes  me  feel  as  if 
I  were  your — well,  anything!"  Lucretia  said,  recklessly, 
when  they  were  walking  through  hot  darkness,  after 
dinner. 

Stephen  was  too  tired  and  too  despondent  to  reply. 


220  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"I'm  wretched — wretched — wretched!"  she  said  an- 
grily. 

"I'm  sorry!"  he  said,  quietly.  He  put  his  arm 
lightly  about  her,  but  she  freed  herself  with  a  quick 
movement. 

"Please,  Steve,  it's  too  hot!"  She  preceded  him  in 
a  moody  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  burst 
out,  bitterly:  "Why  should  she  have  it  all?  The 
position,  the  approval  of  everyone,  your  uncle  and 
aunt,  with  Judge  Curran's  political  backing  thrown 
in,  to  play  her  game  for  her?  I  must  be  kept  out  of 
the  way  like  something  shameful — I  am  shameful! 
You  have  to  fabricate  a  motive  for  coming  to  see  me 
here,  you  have  to  destroy  my  letters,  I  tell  Mrs.  Gun- 
ther  that  you  are  my  business  man,  as  an  excuse  for 
your  calling  me  on  the  telephone — you  don't  write 
me  on  your  business  stationery — you  don't  dare! 
But  when  you  are  with  Mimi — then  everything  is 
lovely — everything  is  approved !  You  may  safely " 

"I  can  see  that  there  is  no  use  following  this  line  of 
conversation,"  Stephen  said,  deeply  displeased.  "I 
am  sorry  I  came  up  here  to-night!  I  will  be  at  the 
cabin  to-morrow,  and  I  will  give  everyone  a  full  and  fair 
explanation 

"Then  you  will  kill  your  uncle!"  said  Lucretia. 

" — everyone,"  he  repeated,  firmly.  "It  will  hurt 
them,  and  I  am  sorry!" 

"I  am  sorry  we  ever  met,"  she  said,  darkly. 

"  But,  my  darling,  you  wouldn't  have  wanted  never  to 
have  realized  what  we  mean  to  each  other?"  he  pleaded, 
feeling  himself  how  weak  was  his  dependence  upon  her 
smile,  and  yet  unable  to  bear  the  anguish  of  this  mood. 

"Oh,   yes,   I  would,"  she  answered,  lightly.     "We 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  221 

have  done  a  foolish  thing,  and  I  suppose  we  must  pay 
for  it!  You  were  engaged  to  a  lovely  girl,  who  will 
make  you  a  wonderful  wife.  I  had  not  been  six 
months  a  widow.  We  have  had  a  lovely  dream ' 

It  was  no  use.  He  could  not  soften  her,  could  not 
win  her.  Fifteen  minutes  later,  with  an  anger  Stephen 
had  not  felt  stirring  within  him  for  actual  years,  he 
flung  his  suit-case  into  his  motor-car,  and  bid  her  a 
brief  good-night.  No,  he  could  not  stay.  No,  he 
was  going  to  drive  back  to  the  city.  No,  he  had 
made  a  mistake  in  coming,  under  the  impression  that 
she  might  be  glad  to  see  him. 

She  said  good-bye  composedly,  almost  with  amuse- 
ment. Stephen's  heart  was  sick,  his  teeth  were  gripped, 
as  he  shifted  gears  and  touched  keys.  She  could  not — 
she  could  not — he  told  himself,  let  him  go  in  this 
fashion,  sacrifice  the  whole  evening — it  was  only 
eight  o'clock — and  the  dewy,  fragrant  summer  morn- 
ing when  she  would  laugh  with  him  over  their  break- 
fast cups! 

But  she  did  exactly  that,  there  was  no  sign  of  melt- 
ing in  the  casual  bright  farewells.  It  was  in  a  fever 
of  misery  and  despair  and  doubt  and  anger  that  Ste- 
phen raced  the  fifty  miles  between  him  and  his  rooms 
in  the  old  Curran  home,  and  for  him  the  burning 
night  was  only  a  succession  of  brief  sleeps,  evil  dreams, 
and  wakeful  tossing  while  the  whole  troubled  panorama 
of  his  problem  unrolled  itself  before  his  aching  eyes. 

The  next  afternoon  he  drove  to  the  cabin  on  Red 
Pine,  still  miserably  upset  and  undetermined.  If 
Lucretia  loved  him,  how  could  she  possibly  have 
treated  him  so  cruelly,  and  if  she  did  not  love  him, 
why  should  he  hurt  and  disappoint  his  uncle,  in  the 


222  LTJCRETIA  LOMBARD 

last  few  weeks  of  his  life?  Marrying  Mimi  was  im- 
possible, of  course,  but  marrying  Lucretia  sometimes 
seemed  as  impossible,  too,  and  Stephen  said  to  himself 
that  he  would  like  to  get  away  from  it  all,  like  to 
make  a  fresh  start  in  Rio  Janeiro  or  Buenos  Aires 

She  had  lived  in  Buenos  Aires,  the  beautiful,  radiant 
woman  he  loved.  How  marvellous  it  would  be  to 
take  her  back  again  some  day,  to  have  her  leaning 
beside  him  on  a  white  railing,  while  the  blue  sea 
and  the  distant  shores  of  Barbadoes  and  Pernambuco 
swept  by!  But  then,  what  would  not  be  marvellous 
in  that  society?  And  he  remembered  a  day  when  her 
maid,  Hannah,  was  out,  and  when  she  had  given  him 
a  late  luncheon,  cold  chicken  and  wonderful  clear 
iced  coffee,  and  a  salad  she  dressed  expertly  with 
chives  from  a  window-box!  Even  that  little  recon- 
structed kitchen,  with  its  gas  stove,  and  its  white  and 
blue  jars  of  rice  and  beans,  was  Arcadia  when  she 
reigned  in  it. 

He  reached  the  cabins  on  Red  Pine  still  wondering, 
at  the  end  of  a  long  summer  day,  and  found  Mimi 
on  the  tennis-court,  with  Ted  Rutger  and  a  strange 
blonde  young  man,  Marjorie's  cousin,  Younger  Rogers, 
it  appeared.  The  fourth  player  in  the  interrupted 
game  of  mixed  doubles  was  tall,  and  beautifully 
built,  with  bright  hair  under  a  crushed,  white  hat. 
She  came  slowly  across  the  court,  as  the  others  greeted 
him,  and  gave  him  her  hand,  and  as  he  looked  into 
the  serious,  topaz  eyes,  he  knew,  with  a  great  melt- 
ing and  an  exquisite  warmth  at  his  heart,  that  for  him 
she  was  the  only  woman  in  the  world. 

He  could  see,  from  Younger  Rogers'  appraising 
glance,  that  he  was  being  judged  as  Mimi's  promised 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  223 

husband,  and  as  the  evening  wore  on  the  net  tightened 
slowly  and  steadily  about  him.  He  sat  next  to  Mimi 
at  dinner,  and  presently  she  dropped  a  warm  little 
hand  and  curled  the  ringers  inside  his  own.  Lucretia 
was  unusually  quiet,  avoided  his  look,  and  never 
directly  addressed  him. 

The  Judge  was  not  so  well,  the  troubling  "pains" 
had  returned,  he  admitted.  He  looked  tired,  and 
shifted  his  position  with  difficulty  now  and  then, 
although  he  did  not  complain.  Mrs.  Currants  spirits 
were  correspondingly  affected,  and  despite  their  reso- 
lute gaiety  the  young  persons  felt  the  gathering  trouble 
in  the  air.  Mimi  alone  was  bright  and  natural;  a 
pretty  Mimi  to-night  in  a  gay  yellow  and  black  print, 
with  shiny  big  black  cherries  bobbing  on  the  calico 
hat.  There  was  a  charming  shade  of  difference  in  her 
manner  when  she  turned  toward  Stephen,  a  certain 
becoming  deference  and  affection,  a  radiant  desire  to 
understand  the  affairs  that  kept  him  so  busy  in  town, 
and  to  help  him. 

"Stephen!"  It  was  the  voice  he  loved  best  in  the 
world.  Lucretia  came  out  of  the  shadows  of  the 
porch,  and  drew  him  away  from  the  dim  flood  of  light 
that  fell  through  the  open  door.  It  was  early  evening, 
and  Mimi  and  the  two  young  men  had  started  for  a 
walk.  Stephen  had  supposed  Lucretia  with  them, 
and  was  hurriedly  following  when  she  spoke  to  him. 
"Steve,"  she  said,  urgently,  her  white-clad  figure 
close  to  him  in  the  soft  gloom,  "I  was  so  bad  yesterday 
— will  you  forgive  me?" 

Instantly  everything  resentful,  dubious,  and  angry 
melted  from  his  heart,  and  the  sunshine  of  peace 
flooded  it. 


224  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"I  have  been  so  unhappy!"  she  said,  with  a  little 
break  in  her  voice. 

His  answer  was  to  put  his  arm  about  her,  and  wipe 
out  all  the  bitterness  with  one  marvellous  and  dizzying 
kiss.  For  a  long  minute  they  clung  together.  About 
them  was  only  the  dark  rich  fragrance  of  the  mountain 
night;  Stephen  could  feel  the  beauty  and  sweetness  of 
her  relaxed  in  his  arms,  and  everything  else  in  life 
became  shadowy  and  far  away. 

"We  must  follow  the  others,"  she  whispered,  "we 
have  not  a  minute!  But,  Steve,  I  couldn't  sleep — 
I  was  so  wretched!  I  tossed  about  for  hours " 

"I  too!"  he  said,  eagerly.     "Ah,  you  darling " 

Their  lips  were  together  again. 

"We  must  follow  them!"  Lucretia  said,  presently. 
" Steve,  you  do  forgive  me?" 

"Lucretia,  don't '  he  said,  breathless  with 

the  miracle  of  her  mood.  "You  make  me  want  to 
cry!" 

They  went  down  through  the  dark  garden,  and  here 
he  made  her  linger  just  a  moment,  for  another  taste 
of  the  first  reconciliation  that  was  so  sweet.  In  the 
room  off  the  dining-room  they  could  see  the  glimmer 
of  a  lamp,  where  Mrs.  Curran  was  settling  her  beloved 
invalid  for  the  night;  from  the  warm  darkness  of  the 
orchard,  odorous  of  apples,  came  Mimi's  laugh,  and 
young  Rogers'  hoarse  echo. 

"And  I  want  you  to  know  why  I  am  here,  Steve," 
Lucretia  explained.  "This  morning  Mimi  telephoned 
to  me,  at  the  Gunther  House,  and  asked  if  they  could 
pick  me  up  for  a  picnic — they  were  going  to  the  Seven 
Wells.  Steve,  I  couldn't  let  them  come  to  Mrs. 
Gunther's!  She — or  somebody,  would  have  been  sure 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  225 

to  mention  the  fact  that  you  dined  there  last  night; 
it's  just  one  of  those  awkward  things " 

He  heard  her  voice  break  deliciously  on  a  shamed 
laugh. 

"However,  I  am  going  to  be  good! "she  assured  him, 
hastily.  "No  more  dramatics.  But  I  couldn't  let 
her  come  to  Mrs.  Gunther's — not  so  soon.  So  I  said 
that  I  had  promised  to  take  the  Bartlett  children 
on  a  picnic  of  our  own,  which  was  true.  'Well,  then,' 
Mimi  said — you  know  how  coaxing  she  is  when  she 
is  in  earnest  about  a  thing! — 'we'll  come  for  you  to-night, 
or  we'll  come  over  to-morrow,  and  that  will  be  even 
better — we'll  bring  Steve  over  with  us!'  Steve,  I 
couldn't  risk  that.  Mrs.  Gunther  would  have  wel- 
comed you  as  an  old  friend — we  couldn't  have  kept 
it  secret.  So  I  agreed  to  the  plan  for  to-night,  and  they 
drove  into  Farley's  for  me  at  about  four  o'clock.  I 
wanted  to  send  you  a  wire,  but  I  had  no  chance!" 

"It's  awkward!"  he  said,  thoughtfully.  "I  don't 
know  what  to  do!" 

"I  do,"  she  answered,  sensibly.  "We  must  just  wait 
— we  must  just  be  patient." 

"Suppose,"  he  suggested,  delighted  to  find  her  in 
so  quietly  helpful  a  mood,  "suppose  I  tell  Mimi  the 
whole  truth?" 

For  a  moment  she  walked  beside  him  in  si- 
lence. 

"Do  you  think  she  could  keep  it  from  your  uncle?" 
she  asked. 

"My  uncle  may  live  for  weeks!  Would  it  matter 
very  much  if  she  did  not?" 

"I  think  it  would.  I  think  your  aunt  would  be 
heartbroken." 


226  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Steve —  Steve — eee!"  It  was  Mimi's  voice,  from 
the  orchard.  Their  moment  of  confidence  was  over. 

"Coming!"  he  shouted.  He  and  Lucretia  quickened 
their  pace.  But  before  they  joined  the  others,  she  had 
time  for  a  last  whisper. 

"Don't — don't  do  anything  too  hastily!  We  can 
afford  to  wait." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  cruel  closing  of  the  long  and  honorable  career 
of  Judge  Samuel  Curran  followed  with  merciful  swift- 
ness. The  pains  grew  worse,  and  there  was  com- 
munication with  doctors  again,  and  there  was  a  last 
hurried  flight  to  the  city.  Once  again  there  was  a 
vigil  outside  the  surgery,  and  this  time  the  broken 
shell  was  carefully  moved  to  the  Judge's  own  bedroom 
at  home,  not  to  leave  it,  as  a  conscious,  breathing  man 
again. 

Nobody  spoke  the  terrible  word,  nobody  said  any- 
thing but  what  was  optimistic  and  encouraging,  but 
everyone  knew — everyone  in  the  house,  and  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  the  city.  Mimi's  situation  lost  all  its 
dramatic  consolation  for  her,  and  she  carried  herself 
white  and  sick;  Mrs.  Curran  moved  like  a  woman  under 
a  horrible  spell. 

Two  days — three  days — they  told  callers  that  he  had 
had  coffee,  and  soup,  and  even  a  cigar.  The  amazing 
strength  of  the  country  boy's  constitution  asserted 
itself;  he  did  not  die.  The  effects  of  the  anaesthetics 
wore  away;  sometimes  he  slept;  sometimes  he  talked 
quietly  and  rationally  with  his  wife,  and  Mimi,  and 
his  nephews. 

One  evening,  the  fourth  evening,  Stephen  was  alone 
with  him.  The  District  Attorney  was  sitting  idle, 
his  big  arms  crossed,  his  fine,  keen  gray  eyes  fixed 
sternly  on  the  fire.  The  days  had  been  full  of  cares 

£27 


228  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

and  worries,  all  made  more  difficult  to  bear  by  the 
trouble  at  home,  and  the  dull  late  summer  heat.  Affairs 
in  the  firm  of  Winship  and  Winship  appeared  confused, 
and  Stephen  was  not  satisfied  with  Fred's  airy  allusions 
to  them.  To  suspect  his  brother  of  actual  defalcation 
was  impossible,  and  yet  Stephen  sensed  rather  than 
really  suspected  that  something  was  wrong,  and  the 
immediate  anticipation  of  having  all  of  his  own,  as 
well  as  his  uncle's  affairs,  thrown  upon  him  for  recon- 
struction, might  well  fill  him  with  apprehension. 

Another  thing  had  annoyed  him  disproportionately 
to-day.  A  certain  scurrilous  little  evening  sheet,  The 
Commerce  News,  had  lately  sprung  into  being,  backed, 
as  all  the  political  world  knew,  by  his  party's  oppo- 
nents, at  the  head  of  whom  was  Frank  Reilly,  the 
coroner. 

Reilly  had  resented  certain  actions  of  Stephen  in 
regard  to  clearing  up  the  recent  gangster  trouble 
that  had  shocked  and  frightened  all  Sanbridge,  and  the 
two  were  recognized  opponents  now,  pitted  against 
each  other  quite  openly,  for  the  coming  party  conven- 
tions. The  Commerce  News  had  before  this  attacked 
the  District  Attorney,  and  Stephen  could  have  found 
his  name  in  any  day's  issue,  connected  with  such  sar- 
casms as  "virtuous  and  impeccable,"  "our  pure  and 
stainless  friend  from  Bond  Street,"  or  "Sanbridge's 
Boy  Galahad." 

But  to-day  there  had  been  a  more  personal  note. 
Under  a  scathing  editorial  headed  "Mr.  District  At- 
torney, Please  Explain?"  he  had  found  a  veiled  allusion 
to  a  certain  beautiful  widow  of  Kingsgreen  Square,  and 
the  death  of  her  husband  from  an  overdose  of  medicine 
some  months  before.  How  long  had  Mr.  Stephen 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  229 

Winship  known  this  charming  woman  before  he  so 
readily  assured  the  coroner  that  she  was  an  old  friend, 
that  he  would  be  answerable  for  the  case?  According 
to  the  testimony  of  one  Bertha  Hansen,  lately  employed 
by  the  beautiful  widow  in  question,  Mr.  Stephen  Win- 
ship  had  been  in  the  house  for  the  first  time  that  night, 
arriving  only  a  hour  or  two  before  Mr.  Frank  Reilly. 
The  circumstances  of  the  call  and  the  friendship  might 
be  interesting  to  Mr.  Winship's  constituents.  How 
about  it,  Mr.  Winship? 

The  thing  was  contemptible,  of  course;  the  shrill 
yelping  of  a  terrier  upon  whose  paw  a  casual  passing 
foot  has  fallen.  Everyone  knew  exactly  what  sort 
of  a  man  Reilly  was,  exactly  how  Stephen  Winship 
had  harried  him  and  exposed  him.  But  the  opposition 
might  take  up  this  infamous  insinuation,  and  play  upon 
it.  It  might  be  difficult  to  shut  Reilly's  mouth.  And 
it  meant  that  his  seeing  Lucretia  again  was  impossible 
at  the  moment.  He  wrote  her  instantly  at  the  Gunther 
House  upon  seeing  the  paper,  advising  her  resolutely 
to  ignore  it,  and  assuring  her  that  there  could  be  no 
more  unpleasant  result  than  the  ugliness  of  having 
her  identity,  as  the  unnamed  woman  of  the  editorial, 
suspected.  Even  that  was  not  probable,  to  any  wide 
extent,  at  least. 

Stephen,  in  the  quiet  bedroom,  looked  at  the  lightly 
sleeping  invalid.  In  a  day  or  two  Uncle  Sam  would 
be  gone,  and  then  he  would  be  free — freer,  at  least,  to 
move.  Then  he  could  explain  the  situation  to  Mimi, 
break  the  second  blow  to  poor  Aunt  Bessy  while  she  was 
still  numb  and  dazed  from  the  first,  and  make  immedi- 
ate arrangements  with  Lucretia. 

His  uncle's  head  was  in  a  comfortable  position,  he 


230  LUCRETTA  LOMBARD 

lay  flat  on  his  back.  Doctor  Sayre  had  told  them  that 
the  end  might  come  in  any  one  of  these  dozes,  and  old 
Samuel  Curran  knew  himself,  now,  that  there  was  no 
further  hope  of  life.  He  had  received  the  answer 
to  his  definite  question  quietly,  reaching  an  emaciated 
hand  for  his  wife's  hand,  whispering  that  he  was  only 
sorry  for  Bessy.  He  lay  now  in  that  curious  border- 
land between  the  reality  of  the  bedroom  and  the  equally 
near  reality  of  the  other  world  within  the  world  he 
knew.  Sometimes  he  whispered  to  himself  those  all- 
important  detached  words  so  casually  dismissed  by 
sick-room  watchers  as  "wandering";  sometimes  he 
addressed  a  murmured  greeting  to  his  mother,  or  some 
other  beloved  spirit  who  had  taken  this  road  years 
ago,  and  Mrs.  Curran  would  cry  afresh  at  hearing  the 
names  of  Mimi's  young  father  and  mother,  or  the 
Judge's  sister  Emily  whose  death  was  fifty  years  past, 
as  a  little  girl  of  eighteen. 

"Steve!"  the  dying  man  said,  bewilderedly  and  sud- 
denly, out  of  a  silence.  Stephen  bent  toward  him, 
his  chair  was  so  close  that  this  brought  his  face  near 
to  the  bloodless  old  face.  The  Judge  had  turned 
slightly  on  his  pillow,  his  eyes  were  a  little  puzzled, 
but  he  was  faintly  smiling.  "Your  grandfather  was 
a  fine  man,  my  boy." 

"I  know  it!"  Stephen  said,  gently. 

"If  he  comes  in  again,  Steve,  I  want  you  to  speak 
to  him!"  his  uncle  suggested,  mildly. 

"I— yes,  I  will,  Uncle  Sam." 

"Never  had  but  three  children,  your  mother  and 
Emmy  and  me,"  mused  the  Judge.  "Coffee  ducks! 
We'd  go  into  the  dining-room — my  grandfather, 
Captain  Tom,  was  alive  then, — and  my  father  would 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  231 

dip  sugar  into  his  coffee,  and  give  it  to  little  Fanny,  and 
call  it  a  'coffee  duck!'" 

He  dozed,  and  there  was  silence  in  the  room.  It  was 
but  dimly  lighted,  the  big  windows  were  wide  open 
to  catch  any  drift  of  cooler  air  that  might  be  moving 
in  the  summer  night.  Mrs.  Curran,  exhausted  with 
fear  and  strain,  was  sleeping;  Mimi  was  downstairs; 
the  house,  the  street,  the  city  itself,  were  still. 

"Mrs.  Lombard  was  with  him,  Steve — with  your 
grandfather,  I  mean,"  the  dying  man  said,  his  eyes 
wide  open  again.  "Extremely  pretty  woman!  I  ap- 
preciate—  His  voice  faded.  "I  appreciate  her 
coming  here  with  your  grandfather.  Her  name  is 
Grace — 

"Mimi  doesn't  call  her  Grace?"  he  added,  anxiously, 
"What  does  she  call  her?" 

Stephen  cleared   his  throat. 

"Lucretia — her  name  is  Lucretia,"  he  said. 

"I  thought  her  name  was  Grace,"  the  Judge  said, 
dreamily  serene  again.  "Steve— 

"Sir?"  Stephen  was  all  attention,  but  the  invalid 
drowsed  lightly  again.  Presently  he  opened  his  eyes, 
and  said,  quietly  and  naturally: 

"You're  in  love  with  her,  eh?" 

"With ?"     Stephen's  throat  thickened,  and  the 

blood  came  into  his  face. 

"I  was  on  the  porch  Saturday  night,"  his  uncle 
told  him.  "I  was  sitting  there  in  the  dark,  waiting 
for  Bessy  to  get  my  bed  ready,  when  you  and  Mrs. 
Lombard  came  out.  You  love  her,  do  you? 

"My  father  had  an  unhappy  love  affair,  Steve," 
the  old  man  added,  as  Stephen  did  not  speak.  "I 
never  saw  the  girl — Lhe  was  a  Maryland  girl.  He 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

visited  down  there,  and  she  broke  his  heart!  But  he 
came  back  here,  and  he  got  over  it,  and  he  married  the 
girl  who  had  loved  him  all  his  life — my  mother.  They 
had  children,  and  a  lovely  home,  friends — he  was  a 
famous  doctor  in  his  day,  Steve.  When  my  turn 
came,  I  fell  in  love  with  the  wrong  woman,  too.  She 
was  a  young  actress — or  I  thought  she  was  young. 
My  father  talked  to  me  then,  he  told  me  about  this 
Baltimore  girl,  how  young  she  had  been,  how  soon  she 
married  another  man.  She  had  just  bewitched  him, 
my  boy,  as  the  actress  did  me,  and  as  this  young  woman 
does  you.  I  came  back  to  Bessy,  and  I  told  her  the 
truth.  And  years  afterward,  when  she  and  I  were  in 
Boston,  we  saw  my  first  love  on  the  stage,  in  a  small 
part,  and — well,  the  play  bored  me  so  that  I  went  to 
sleep!" 

Stephen  was  still  silent,  looking  gravely  down  at  the 
colorless  shell  of  a  hand  that  he  held  between  his  two 
hands. 

"Jim  Warren  was  a  fine  man,  Steve,"  the  shadowy 
voice  resumed,  after  a  moment.  "And  Mary  Warren 
was  one  of  the  best  women  I  have  ever  known.  Their 
little  girl  is  going  to  make  a  splendid  wife,  my  boy — 
I've  watched  her  all  her  life;  I  know.  She's  fond  of 
you " 

He  shut  his  eyes,  the  long  speech  had  tired  him. 
Stephen,  smitten,  was  voiceless  and  motionless,  ex- 
cept for  the  thumb  with  which  he  gently  rubbed  the 
old  hand. 

"You  asked  her,  Steve,"  the  Judge  said,  with  sudden, 
unexpected  vigor,  "you  asked  her,  before  you  began 
following  these — these  false  gods.  You've  always  been 
a  quiet  fellow — almost  too  old  or  your  years.  Bessy 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  233 

and  I  have  said  so  a  hundred  times!  Now,  just 
when  your  wife  and  your  home  and  your  party  are 
all  looking  toward  you — now  you  fall  in  love,  like  a 
High  School  boy,  with  a  pretty  face!" 

"It — it  isn't  quite  that,  Uncle  Sam!" 

"Steve,  I  believe  in  you,"  the  old  voice  said.  "I've 
staked  more  on  you  than  you  know.  The  party  needs 
you,  the  boys  want  you  to  belong  to  Sanbridge,  to  take 
your  right  place  here.  Lots  of  those  old  timers  knew 
Jim  Warren,  and  with  his  little  girl  your  wife 

"Why,  what  do  you  know  of  this  other  woman?" 
he  broke  off,  pleadingly.  "She's  pretty — we  all  know 
that.  But  what  else?  She  never  set  her  foot  in  the 
city  until  two  years  ago.  You  don't  know  that  she 
could  ever  be  happy  here.  You  don't  know  what  her 
traditions  are,  what  sort  of  people  she  comes  from. 
It's  not  money — I'm  not  talking  about  money!  But 
it's  everything  that  counts — friends,  family,  associa- 
tions of  every  sort.  She  may  be  everything  that  is 
good,  and  yet  not  want  to  settle  down  in  a  small 
American  city,  and  raise  your  children! 

"I'm  pretty  near  to  the  end  of  the  road,  Steve. 
My  boy,  it  would  make  it  all  easier  for  me,  it  would 
make  me  very  happy,  to  feel  that  Bessy  and  Mimi 
had  you  back  of  them,  carrying  them  through  this 
time — it'll  be  a  hard,  strange  time  for  Bessy,  and  the 
little  girl  will  need  you  at  every  turn!  If  you  and  my 
little  Mimi  could  be  married  here  in  my  r  room — some 
time  before  the  summons  comes  for  the  old  man ?" 

He  was  silent,  and  for  a  long  while  Stephen  was 
silent,  too,  looking  down  at  the  hand  he  held,  his  fine 
face  dark  and  troubled. 

"I — I've  told  her  that  I  care  for  her,  Uncle  Sam!" 


234  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Well "    said    the    voiceless    whisper,  eagerly. 

"You  mustn't  take  that  too  seriously,  my  boy.  She's 
been  married  once;  she'll  marry  again.  I  don't  dislike 
her,  Steve.  But — she's  not  been  widowed  a  year. 
Fred  admires  her.  I  don't  know  how  seriously,  but 
she  encourages  him  to  a  certain  extent,  anyway.  Does 
that  look  like  a  deep  nature,  Steve?  In  any  case,  is 
it  the  woman  for  you?  Can  you  compare  that  sort  of 
a  woman  to  the  girl  who  has  loved  you  since  she  was 
ten  years  old  ? " 

"I  don't  know  why  you  say  she  likes  Fred,"  Stephen 
said,  sick  with  a  writhing  pang  of  pure  jealousy. 

"Well,  the  boy's  there  a  good  deal,  when  she's  in 
the  city.  But  she'd  console  herself,  he  tells  me,  Steve 
—that's  what  I  mean.  She'd  be  off  to  England,  or 
France — she's  lived  everywhere,  it  seems." 

Off  to  England  or  France!  The  desolating  possi- 
bility chilled  him.  His  heart  was  sick  with  doubt  and 
fear  and  pain. 

"You  like  Mimi?"  the  Judge  asked,  as  he  sat  think- 
ing. 

"Oh,  I  love  Mimi,  of  course!" 

"Well,  then !"  The  words  died  away  trium- 
phantly into  a  long  silence.  The  Judge's  eyes,  un- 
earthly bright,  watched  the  young  man's  face  eagerly. 

"Uncle  Sam,  I'll  think  about  it!"  Stephen  said  at 
last,  reluctantly.  "I'll  talk  to  you  to-morrow.  It's 
eleven  o'clock  now;  perhaps  I  can  get  in  touch  with — 
with  Lucretia  to-morrow,  and  then  talk  to  Mimi. 

I  will  tell  her  the  whole  thing,   and  if  she Of 

course,  Mimi  may  not  be  willing,  under  the  circum- 
stances!" 

"Why  tell  her?"  asked  the  Judge,  into  whose  waxen 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  235 

face  the  light  of  utter  peace  had  crept.  "They'll  be 
grieved,  Stephen.  Everything  will  be  upset.  She 
won't  be  critical  of  you,  my  boy.  She  will  wait  until 
you  can  give  her  the  deepest  love  there  is  in  you. 
And  it  will  come,  Steve,"  he  added,  with  conviction. 
"I'm  an  old  man,  I  know  what  I  am  saying.  It  will 
come!" 

Stephen  made  no  answer;  none  was  needed.  With 
a  smile  and  a  long  breath  his  uncle  relaxed  his  white 
head  against  the  pillow,  and  again  he  slept.  The 
younger  man  sat  motionless  beside  him,  still  holding 
the  cool  hand  in  his  own  brown,  big  ones. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

AT  MIDNIGHT  the  nurse  crept  in,  with  the  Judge's 
hot  gruel,  and  Mrs.  Curran  appeared,  her  wrinkled, 
soft,  puffy  face  blotched  with  sleep.  Stephen  went 
noiselessly  into  the  hall,  encountering  a  roused  and 
curious  Mimi  at  her  doorway  in  a  trailing  blue  wrapper. 

"Everything  as  usual,  Steve?" 

"Quite.  He's  taking  his  gruel.  Go  back  to  bed  and 
get  your  sleep!" 

"I  had  a  horrible  dream!"  Mimi  said,  childishly, 
curling  one  little  fur-slippered  foot  above  the  other. 

"Fred  home?"  Stephen  asked,  smiling  at  her,  and 
conscious  of  a  sharp  touch  of  headache. 

"I  haven't  heard  him  come  in.  He  can't  be  still 
at  Lucretia's.  It's  after  midnight!" 

"At  Lucretia's!     Is  she  in  town?" 

"Why,  yes."  Mimi  smiled,  sleepily,  and  smothered 
a  yawn.  "I  didn't  know  it,"  she  said.  "But  she 
telephoned  at  about  nine  o'clock,  and  vof  course  he 
raced  down  there." 

"But "  Stephen  paused.  "But  I  telephoned 

her  at  two  o'clock,  and  she  said  nothing  of  coming  in !" 
was  on  his  lips.  For  obvious  reasons  he  suppressed 
the  remark.  There  was  a  strange,  sickening  pain 
stirring  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart.  "Did — did  she 
ask  for  me?"  he  said. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  acted  rather  queer,"  Mimi 
said,  simply.  "Emma  came  in  and  said  someone  was 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  237 

on  the  telephone  for  Fred,  and  wouldn't  give  any  name, 
but  it  was  a  lady's  voice.  I  heard  him  talking  to  her, 
rather  low  and  quick,  I  thought,  and  finally  he  said, 
'All  right,  Lucretia!'  so  then  I  knew.  But  he  didn't 
tell  me,  just  grabbed  his  hat  and  flew!" 

"  Funny ! "  But  as  Stephen  slowly  went  upstairs,  and 
slowly  undressed,  he  felt  no  sense  of  fun.  His  brain 
worked  busily  and  tirelessly  at  the  question :  how  could 
she  possibly  have  come  to  town  without  letting  him 
know?  She  must  have  known  at  two  o'clock  that  she 
was  coming,  the  train  left  Farley's  at  four,  and  (the 
omnibus  from  Gunther's  an  hour  before  that! 

Were  there  any  conceivable  circumstances  under 
which  he  could  have  kept  this  information  from  her, 
had  the  situation  been  reversed  ?  No  matter  what  her 
errand,  wouldn't  the  only  natural  thing  be  to  notify 
him,  to  arrange  for  just  a  moment's  meeting,  if  more 
were  impossible? 

"No — no — no — I  simply  couldn't  have  4done  it. 
There  is  no  reason,  there  is  no  excuse!"  he  said,  fever- 
ishly, shutting  his  book  at  one  o'clock. 

He  went  to  the  door  that  opened  into  Fred's  bedroom; 
the  room  was  empty. 

"Unless  she  really  does  like  half-a-dozen  men  as  well 
as  she  does  me!"  he  decided,  bitterly.  And  he  re- 
membered her  putting  him  off,  her  unreasonable 
jealousies,  her  airy  comment  that  there  was  plenty 
of  time. 

"Fred  can't  still  be  there,  that's  nonsense!"  he  told 
himself,  dressing  busily,  hardly  conscious  of  what  he 
did.  In  a  sort  of  frenzy  he  laced  his  shoes  and  jerked 
on  his  coat.  He  went  silently  and  quickly  down  the 
stairs,  out  toward  the  garage. 


238  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

A  light  car  was  coming  down  the  hot,  dark  street. 
Fred! — he  thought.  But  it  was  not  Fred. 

Stephen's  heart  and  brain  were  on  fire.  Where  was 
Fred?  He  had  no  business  to  desert  them  all  at  this 
time !  Aunt  Bessy  might  need  him  at  any  moment 

He  got  into  his  own  car.  He  would  drive  past 
Lucretia's  house,  and  then  try  to  pick  up  Fred  at  the 
club.  Anyway,  he  must  have  air,  he  must  have  si- 
lence and  solitude  in  which  to  think,  to-night.  Every- 
thing in  his  life  seemed  to  have  been  torn  up  by 
the  roots.  A  mysterious,  strange  woman! — that  was 
what  the  world  thought  of  his  living,  glowing,  radiant 
Lucretia.  They — people  who  didn't  know  her — they 
didn't  trust  her,  or  like  her. 

Kingsgreen  Square.  He  looked  up  at  her  window, 
and  his  blood  stopped  moving.  There  was  a  light. 

Stephen  stopped  his  car  in  the  shadows  of  the  park 
opposite.  An  icy,  bitter,  death-like  sadness  seized 
him.  His  throat  was  dry,  and  his  hands  cold.  A 
light — at  twenty  minutes  past  one. 

Perhaps  some  distinguished  friend  of  hers  had  come 
to  town,  perhaps  she  was  entertaining.  But  the  only 
car  at  her  door  was  Fred's  little  car.  A  mysterious, 
strange  woman!  They  didn't  believe  in  her. 

The  summer  night  was  dry  and  warm,  with  an 
occasional  restless  breeze  tossing  the  heavy  foliage  of 
the  sycamores  and  maples  that  waved  their  high 
branches  over  Kingsgreen  Square.  Stephen  sat  still  in 
his  car,  watching  the  dim  light  in  the  sitting-room 
of  the  old  rectory,  his  folded  arms  moving  with  the 
violent  motion  of  his  breath. 

She  might  have  tried  to  telephone  him,  it  would 
have  been  as  simple  to  have  asked  Emma  for  himself 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  239 

as  for  Fred.  There  was  no  consolation  there,  there 
was  no  explanation  anywhere.  Why  had  she  not 
told  him  this  afternoon  that  she  was  coming  down? 
Or  why  had  she  not  stopped  at  the  office;  she  was  quite 
ready  enough,  usually,  with  the  excuse  of  "business." 

He  interrupted  his  own  thoughts,  ashamed.  Ex- 
cuses and  pretence  were  foreign  enough  to  his  real 
nature.  He  loathed  anything  like  misrepresentation 
and  deceit.  Lucretia's  quick  evasions  and  adapta- 
tions of  the  truth  seemed  to  him  always  deplorable, 
and  to-night  actually  distasteful,  repellent. 

He  was  suddenly  roused  from  his  revery  by  seeing 
the  street  doorway  noiselessly  opened.  A  man  came 
quietly  out,  and  crossed  under  the  old  street  lamp. 
It  was  Fred. 

He  went  to  his  car,  and  jumped  in;  Stephen  heard 
the  engine  buzz,  and  a  moment  later  Fred  was  gone. 
The  light  in  the  sitting-room  went  out  abruptly,  and 
a  moment  later  a  square  of  gold  radiance  fell  upon 
the  old  brick  walls  of  St.  Thomas'  from  the  bedroom 
window. 

Stephen  sat  there  until  that  light  was  extinguished, 
too;  his  heart  a  whirlpool  of  wretched  jealousy  and 
doubt.  There  must  be  some  explanation — there  was 
no  explanation,  he  told  himself,  over  and  over  again. 
There  must  be  some  explanation — there  was  no  ex- 
planation. 

After  awhile  he  drove  home,  slowly.  But  when  the 
car  was  beside  Fred's  car  in  the  garage,  he  still  did  not 
go  in  to  bed.  He  hung  on  the  old  fence,  beside  the 
stable,  thinking,  thinking,  thinking. 

He  was  tired,  tired  almost  to  fever.  Nothing  could 
be  thought  out  to  a  conclusion;  it  was  all  a  hopeless 


240  LUCRETIA  LOMBx\RD 

troubled  jumble — Mimi,  Lucretia,  Fred,  Aunt  Bessy 
and  Uncle  Sam. 

The  sky  darkened  ominously;  paled  as  if  a  black  glass 
had  been  noiselessly  lifted  from  across  it.  The  great 
trees  on  the  old  Curran  place  were  gray  against  darker 
gray;  the  angle  of  the  barn  roof  etched  itself  against  the 
twilight.  A  wandering  breeze  went  by  fragrant  of  hay 
and  roses.  There  were  a  few  minutes  of  exquisite  chill. 

Stephen  went  noiselessly  into  the  dark  house,  which 
smelled  closed  and  stuffy.  He  stumbled  and  yawned 
over  getting  to  bed,  and  at  once  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 
It  was  bright  morning  when  he  opened  his  eyes  again. 

Bright  morning,  and  Fred  cautiously  and  silently 
equipping  himself  for  the  office,  slipping  keys  and 
watch  into  his  pockets,  eyes  alertly  watching  the  bed. 

"Waked  you,  Steve!"  Fred  said,  with  self-reproach. 

Stephen  turned  over,  smiling  vaguely,  conscious 
deep  in  his  being  of  something  unpleasant,  but  unable 
to  think  yet. 

"I  was  trying  not  to  wake  you!"  Fred  said.  "You 
were  late  last  night." 

"You  were  late,  too,"  Stephen  said,  memory  coming 
back  in  a  tide. 

"  Sat  in  a  game  with  the  fellers,"  Fred  stated,  casually. 

"I  see!" 

"Say,  Steve,  would  it  put  you  out  much  if  I  went 
down  to  New  York  this  afternoon  ? "  Fred  asked,  care- 
lessly. "I've  got  a  little  business  there 

"What  sort  of  business?" 

"I'll  tell  you  when  I  put  it  over!"  Fred  answered, 
consulting  his  watch  with  an  abstracted  frown.  "I 
thought  I'd  go  down  on  the  twelve  o'clock  train,  and 
get  the  eight  o'clock  flyer  back  to-morrow  morning." 


;  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  241 

"Sure.  Go  ahead!"  Stephen  said,  lifelessly,  after 
a  pause. 

Fool — fool — fool  that  he  had  been!  he  said  to  him- 
self, when  his  brother  had  gone.  He  reached  for  the 
telephone,  and  called  the  rectory. 

It  was  Hannah  who  answered  him,  and  he  knew 
that  her  innocent  negatives  were  being  whispered  to 
her  by  Lucretia  herself. 

No,  Mrs.  Lombard  wasn't  there,  she  was  up  at  the 
Gunther  House.  No,  sir;  she  hadn't  been  in  town 
this  week.  No,  sir;  no,  sir. 

Stephen  persisted.  Suddenly,  with  a  breath  of 
laughter  and  a  swish  of  silk,  it  was  Lucretia  herself 
at  the  telephone.  What  did  he  mean  by  making 
Hannah  and  herself  tell  such  lies?  Yes,  of  course 
she  was  down.  Well,  she  had  tried  to  telephone  him. 
Well,  he  must  not  be  so  suspicious! 

Her  gaiety,  the  unconcerned,  childishly  musing  notes 
in  her  voice,  strained  the  last  nervous  shreds  of  his  self- 
control.  He  could  have  cried  with  weariness  and  de- 
spair at  her  cheerful  unconsciousness  that  she  had  hurt 
him  bitterly. 

"Can — it's  ten  o'clock  now — can  I  see  you  to-day? 
Could  you  lunch  with  me?" 

"Oh,  Stephen,  ought  you?  Your  uncle,  you  know 
— just  now — 

"I  could  manage  it  very  nicely.  He  is  just  the 
same — no  immediate  change." 

"Well,  but  not  to-day.  Suppose  I — suppose  I  tele- 
phone you  in  the  morning?" 

He  realized,  with  a  sick  heart,  that  she  was  fencing. 

"  In  the  morning !  Aren't  you  going  back  to  Gunther's 
to-day?" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Well — yes,  of  course  I  am!  How  foolish  of  me! 
But  I  don't  seem  to  have  my  senses  this  morning! 
Yes,  of  course.  But  I'll  telephone  you,  Steve;  that's 
best.  I'll  telephone  you  after  lunch.  You'll  be  in  your 
office  then?"  He  could  tell  from  her  tone  that  she 
was  trying  to  extricate  herself  from  a  most  unwelcome 
interruption.  He  ended  the  conversation  abruptly. 

At  noon,  in  his  office,  an  agony  of  doubt  suddenly 
seized  him.  He  telephoned  the  rectory  again.  This 
time  Hannah  was  quite  obviously  alone,  and  could 
speak  freely. 

"She  left  just  a  few  minutes  ago,  Mr.  Winship,  with 
your  brother.  No,  sir;  I  don't  think  she  was  going 
back  to  the  country,  I  think  it  was  business  that 
took  her  to  New  York — the  noon  train,  she  said. 
She " 

So  that  ended  it.  Stephen  sat  moving  the  little 
bronze  elephant  Mimi  had  given  him  for  a  paper- 
weight, slowly  to  and  fro.  On  to  the  brown  blotter, 
off  the  blotter  to  the  glass  that  shielded  the  mahogany. 
Back  and  forth,  back  and  forth,  while  the  insistent  noon 
whistles  shrilled  and  whined  in  the  hot  city.  What- 
ever had  taken  her  to  New  York  was  not  important, 
whatever  had  kept  Fred  and  herself  talking  from 
half-past  nine  until  after  one  o'clock  last  night  was  not 
important,  except  to  him.  She  was  her  own  mistress. 

But  to  him,  this  proof  that  she  neither  trusted 
him  nor  needed  him  was  all-important.  His  uncle's 
words  came  back  to  him: 

"She's  not  been  widowed  six  months  yet;  does  that 
look  like  a  very  deep  feeling?" 

He  went  home  at  five  o'clock;  the  house  seemed 
deliciously  cool  and  airy  to-night,  and  while  he  sat 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  243 

grimed  and  weary  from  the  crowded  day's  strain, 
beside  the  invalid's  bed,  Mimi  came  in,  with  a  frosted 
glass  of  something  for  him  to  drink,  and  took  her  place 
quietly  beside  Aunt  Bessy. 

She  wore  a  frail  almost  transparant  dress  of  striped 
dark  blue  and  white,  her  dark  hair  was  freshly  brushed. 
Stephen  watched  her  gratefully;  she  had  sunk  all  her 
own  personality  in  the  needs  of  this  stricken  household; 
she  had  her  own  dear,  merry  smile  for  the  old  Judge, 
her  comforting  hand  held  Mrs.  Curran's  tightly,  she 
flitted  to  the  door  to  speak  to  a  maid  or  answer  a  tele- 
phone inquiry. 

Duty,  sweetness,  and  the  setting  of  these  dignified 
rooms,  these  dignified  old  guardians,  how  well  they 
became  her!  What  a  little  gentlewoman  she  was, 
rising  to  this  demand  as  simply  as  she  would  rise  to 
every  other.  Her  earnest  eyes  soothed  his  hurt  and 
humiliated  soul,  her  pleasant  familiarity  with  him,  the 
motherly  little  fashion  she  had  of  scolding  and  directing 
him,  seemed  to  him  lovely  to-night. 

It  solved  everything — his  marriage  to  Mimi.  It 
meant  his  duty  to  his  party,  his  family,  and  to  this 
delightful  woman  whom  he  had  watched  grow  up  from 
lovely  babyhood.  It  meant  an  old  man's  death  in 
peace,  and  an  old  woman's  surest  consolation  in  in- 
curable loss  and  sorrow. 

"Mimi,"  he  said  to  her,  after  dinner,  "I  want  to 
speak  to  you  a  moment!" 

She  followed  him  into  the  library. 

"I've  overdrawn!"  she  said,  smilingly,  as  she  had 
often  said  before.  But  when  they  were  alone  in  the 
cool,  leather-scented  room,  she  came  close  to  him,  and 
added,  anxiously,  "He's  worse!" 


244  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

Her  simplicity  went  to  his  heart,  and  he  took  both 
her  hands. 

"No,  dear;  he's  just  the  same.  But  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  frankly,  Mimi,  and  have  you  help  me!" 

"Steve,  as  if  I  could  help  you  ?     That's  your  role  I" 

"Mimi,"  he  began  with  difficulty,  "All  my  life  I  have 
felt  that  some  day  you  and  I  would  be  married " 

"Yes,  I  know!"  she  whispered,  smiling,  but  suddenly 
pale. 

"You  never  knew,  Mimi,  that  there  was — another 
woman  ?"  Stephen  asked,  slowly. 

"Steve!"  Her  eyes  blazed;  she  stared  at  him  horri- 
fied. "But — but  not  you!9' 

He  read  her  mistake  in  her  tone,  and  flushed  un- 
comfortably. 

"No,  I  don't  mean  that!  There  has  never  been 
that — that  sort  of  thing  in  my  life!" 

"But — what  then?"  she  said,  wondering. 

"I  cared  for  her,"  he  said,  simply.  "I  told  her 
so.  And  I  tried  to  tell  you  so!" 

She  was  still  staring  at  him,  bewilderedly. 

"I  remember!  That  Sunday  afternoon  at  Red 
Pine!"  she  said,  struck.  "But,  Steve — she  isn't  free?" 
she  asked. 

"Yes.     She's  free." 

"She Mimi  was  almost  indignant.  "She 

doesn't  like  you?"  she  went  on,  wide-eyed. 

"No;  it's  not  that!" 

Mimi  was  motionless,  her  bright  eyes  fixed  upon  him. 

"But  what  is  it,  then?" 

"Might  it  be,"  he  said,  slowly,  "that  you  are  closer 
to  me,  that  I  know  you  better — know  better  what  my 
life  would  be  with  you?  There  are  a  thousand  reasons 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  245 

for  my  loving  you,  Mimi,  and  but  the  one  for  loving 
her!" 

"What  is  that  one?"  Mimi  asked,  soberly,  after 
thought. 

"That — that  I  find  her — found  her — strangely  at- 
tractive!" he  said,  puzzled  himself  for  the  right  words. 

"You  love  her  best,  but  you  come  to  me!"  Mimi 
said,  out  of  a  troubled  silence,  and  with  bitter  pain 
in  her  voice. 

"I  wish  I  had  never  seen  her!"  Stephen  said. 

The  girl  glanced  at  him  timidly,  the  unhappy,  heavy 
tone  of  his  voice  making  her  forget  her  own  sense  of 
hurt  and  shame. 

He  could  not  know  that  she  had  visualized  a  youth- 
ful affair,  mad  and  miserable,  an  unscrupulous  and 
flirtatious  woman,  who  had  wounded  and  disillusioned 
this  simplest,  most  helpless,  dearest  of  men.  An  im- 
pulse almost  wifely  in  its  love  and  protection  rose 
strongly  within  her.  He  was  so  different,  so  blundering 
and  so  innocent,  in  a  woman's  hands! 

"We  know  each  other  so  well,"  he  said,  with  almost 
a  little-boy  awkwardness.  "You  know  my  faults — 
and  I  know  that  you  haven't  any!  There  isn't  any- 
thing about  you  that  I  don't  admire — and  love!" 

Mimi  felt  stinging  tears  behind  her  eyes;  she  turned 
away. 

"Ah,  Stevie  dear,"  she  said,  desolately,  "that  isn't 
enough!  You  must  see  that  I  can't  do  that!" 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  them. 

"Yes,  I  do  see  that,  dear,"  the  man  said,  quietly, 
then. 

Mimi  whirled  about  to  face  him,  and  he  saw  that  she 
was  in  tears. 


246  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Not  for  my  sake,  Steve,  for  yours ! "  she  said,  thickly, 
trying  gallantly  to  smile. 

But  her  resistance  was  almost  at  an  end,  she  had 
always  loved  him,  she  could  not  let  him  go  away  from 
her.  When  he  put  his  arm  about  her,  she  dropped  her 
face  against  his  shoulder,  and  clung  to  him. 

"Mimi,"  he  said,  hesitating  and  distressed,  "I 
know  that  nothing  is  right  that  separates  you  and  me 
after  all  these  years!" 

The  dark  head  on  his  shoulder  was  motionless; 
he  began  to  stroke  her  hair. 

"Uncle  Sam  wishes  it,  immediately,"  he  said,  in 
a  troubled  voice.  Mimi's  wet  eyes  flashed  into  view, 
her  voice  was  terrified. 

"Then  he's  worse! " 

"No;  but  he  is  worrying  about  it." 

Stephen  had  meant  only  to  reassure  her;  he  could 
hardly  have  chosen  a  more  fortunate  phrase. 

"But  he  mustn't  worry!  Doctor  Sayre  said  so. 
We  must — we  must " 

She  hesitated,  clinging  to  his  hand.  In  the  gipsyish 
face  he  knew  so  well  an  April  battle  was  clouding  and 
shining. 

"Steve,  you  wouldn't  ask  me  if  it  was  not  the  right, 
wise  thing !" 

He  drew  her  toward  him. 

"Mimi,  dear,  with  God's  help  I  will  make  you  the 
happiest  wife  in  all  the  world!" 

The  magic  word  won  his  case  for  him;  she  came  into 
his  arms,  and  with  all  her  earnest,  trusting  girl's  heart 
in  her  voice  and  eyes,  she  said,  with  the  warmest  kiss 
she  had  ever  given  him: 

"Ah,  Steve,  dear,  as  if  I  didn't  know  you!" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

Two  days  later  Stephen  Winship  stopped  his  car 
at  the  curb  before  the  old  rectory  in  Kingsgreen  Square. 
A  burning  August  morning  had  laid  a  fine  blue  haze 
over  the  city;  there  were  forest  fires  far  to  the  north, 
and  in  the  direction  the  sky  showed,  even  from  here, 
a  heavy  yellow-gray.  There  was  no  shadow  anywhere; 
the  foliage  of  the  trees  hung  limp  in  the  damp  hot  air. 
The  little  fishstall  was  closed;  the  butcher's  window 
empty  except  a  sleeping  great  cat;  Monsieur  Lejeal 
had  retired  into  some  dim  lair  in  the  deeps  of  the  book- 
shop, and  the  sun  beat  down  upon  discolored  maga- 
zines and  stained  green  cloth  bindings  unchecked. 

Stephen  mounted  the  stairs.  Hannah,  her  kindly 
face  damp  and  dark  with  heat,  showed  him  into  the 
familiar  sitting-room,  and  disappeared  into  her  own 
region.  Mrs.  Lombard  would  only  be  a  moment,  she 
said. 

The  room  wore  its  summer  aspect  to-day;  the  chairs 
were  in  Holland  covers;  there  were  roses  on  the  piano, 
and  through  the  old-fashioned  Italian  blinds  at  the 
windows  sunshine  fell  in  misty  gold  bars,  making  the 
light  dim  and  charming,  like  summer  sunlight  through 
high,  intercrossed  cathedral  naves  or  streaming  in 
rifts  through  the  branches  of  forest  trees.  The  evi- 
dences of  a  woman's  occupancy  here,  the  occupancy 
of  a  lovely  and  resourceful  woman,  had  always  been 
peculiarly  appealing  to  Stephen;  to-day  he  noted  again 

247 


248  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

her  books  in  various  languages,  her  Russian  and  Ger- 
man music,  the  desk  from  which  she  sent  him  her  distin- 
guished, brief  notes,  the  sweet,  homelike  order  and 
spaciousness  that  she  had  somehow  achieved  in  this 
old-fashioned  place.  Almost  all  the  cluttering  detail 
of  her  husband's  day  was  gone,  the  photographs  and 
nicknacks,  but  she  had  managed  the  change  gradually, 
with  no  vulgar  rush  for  paperers  and  mahogany. 

It  was  the  room  of  a  poised  and  finished  woman  of  the 
world,  a  woman  who  expected  to  be  valued  for  what 
she  was  rather  than  what  she  had,  who  was  quite 
confident  of  being  able  to  hold  her  own  in  any  environ- 
ment, on  her  own  terms. 

Stephen  seemed  to  sense  this  especially  to-day,  and 
as  he  waited  in  this  grateful  quiet  and  peace,  his  head, 
which  was  aching  with  the  heat  and  hurry  of  the  morn- 
ing, eased  itself  by  appreciable  degrees,  and  his  mind 
began  to  grasp  the  events  of  the  last  few  days  in  some- 
thing like  their  proper  significance. 

The  die  was  cast  now.  He  was  glad  of  it.  He  was 
glad  of  it.  It  only  remained  to  face  this  difficult  next 
half-hour  with  what  dignity  and  consideration  he 
might;  afterward,  everything  would  be  quite  simple. 

He  glanced  at  the  bedroom  door,  and  sighed  im- 
patiently. It  was  harder  every  minute  to  wait  for  her 
here,  and  to  feel  her  influence  and  her  charm  steal  over 
him  again,  the  heady  excitement  of  only  being  near  her, 
and  the  thrilling  sense  that  nothing  else  in  the  world 
counted  in  his  life  except  Lucretia.  Stephen  frowned 
faintly,  and  caught  his  lower  lip  in  his  teeth.  He  felt 
inexpressibly  tired;  he  would  have  liked  to  drop  into  one 
of  these  big  chairs,  and  put  his  head  back,  and  close  his 
eyes  to  all  this  shimmering,  shaded  greenness,  and  sleep. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  249 

She  came  suddenly,  a  flash  of  white  and  gold  and 
tawny  browns,  with  the  fragrance  of  scented  waters 
and  powders  hanging  faintly  about  her.  The  jalousies 
clicked  as  the  door  opened,  a  faint  breeze  crossed  the 
room;  she  was  close  beside  him,  more  exquisite  than 
he  had  ever  seen  her;  her  velvety  skin  touched  with  a 
warm  bloom  under  its  tan,  her  topaz  eyes  seeming  to 
shed  an  actual  starry  radiance  in  the  tempered  light. 

"Stephen!     You  got  my  note?" 

"I  have  it  here." 

"And  were  you  surprised?  I  waked  up  in  New 
York  this  morning,"  Lucretia  said,  joyfully.  "I  had 
expected  to  come  back  last  night,  at  eight,  but  I  was 
detained.  My  darling,  you  look  tired.  How  is  the 
Judge?" 

"Sinking.  Unconscious,  now,  most  of  the  time." 
Stephen  cleared  his  throat,  which  felt  dry. 

"I  sent  for  you,"  said  Lucretia,  with  sympathy  in 
her  eyes.  "But  sit  down!  I  have  so  much  to  tell 
you!" 

"You  said  in  the  note  something  important  about 
Fred,"  he  prompted  her.  "We  have  been  wondering 
where  he  was.  He — was  he — did  you  see  him  in  New 
York?" 

"Yes.     But  sit  down!" 

Fragrant,  eager,  she  put  the  two  fine  hands,  in  their 
transparent,  buttoned  cuffs,  against  him,  and  gently 
pushed  him  into  a  chair.  And  immediately,  with  the 
frail  white  skirts  ballooning  about  her  like  the  petals  of 
a  rose,  and  falling  softly  and  limply  into  place  as  she 
sat  down,  she  took  a  low  hassock  at  his  knee,  and  pos- 
sessed herself  of  both  his  hands. 

"Steve,  dear,"  she  said,  in  the  ready  velvet  voice, 


250  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"I've  felt  so  badly,  I've  felt  such  a  hypocrite  about 
something,  all  this  week.  But  now  I  can  tell  you,  and 
I  want  you  to  know!" 

A  sick  desolation  swept  over  the  man's  soul.  It 
was  all  gone,  the  doubt  and  distrust  and  anger,  and  all 
the  world  was  here,  in  this  room,  held  between  these  two 
smooth,  tawny-brown  hands.  For  good  or  evil,  she 
was  the  only  woman  in  his  life,  and  the  claims  of  Mimi, 
his  uncle,  his  career,  were  not  real — not  to  be  considered 
— only  a  troubled  background  to  his  distressed  thoughts. 

"This  was  it,  you  see,"  Lucretia  was  explaining. 
"Fred — but  did  Fred  tell  you  that  I  was  here  in  town 
night  before  last?"  she  broke  off  to  ask,  animatedly. 
"Well,  I  was.  But  this  was  what  happened.  The 
other  day,  just  after  you  telephoned  me,  I  had  a  tele- 
phone call  from  Fred.  This  was  up  at  Gunther's,  of 
course.  He  said  that  he  was  in  trouble — couldn't 
tell  you ' 

"Fred  was?" 

Stephen's  tone  was  amazed,  her  own  eyes  grew 
round  and  serious. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  and  I  assure  you  the  words  were  noth- 
ing to  the  tone  !  It  sounded  suicidal,  really.  I  asked 
him  to  come  up  to  me  at  once;  he  said  he  dared  not 
leave  the  office " 

"Dared  not!" 

"That's  what  he  said.  So  of  course  I  said  I  would 
come  down.  I  came  in  on  the  late  train — got  here 
about  nine,  and  found  Hannah  here  with  her  little 
girl.  I  telephoned  your  house — but  I  didn't  give  my 
name,  and  Fred  came  here  at  once."  Lucretia's 
voice  faltered,  and  she  smiled  at  Stephen  with  some- 
thing of  the  bashful  daring  of  a  little  girl.  "Fred 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  251 

wants  me  to  tell  you  this,  Steve,"  she  said,  "and  you 
must  not  be  cross.  I've  loaned  him  money!" 

The  blood  came  into  Stephen's  face,  and  he  looked 
at  her  in  stupefaction. 

"I've  loaned  him/'  added  Lucretia,  still  with  that 
whimsical  look  of  little-girl  soberness,  "  twelve  thou- 
sand dollars!" 

"You — I  hope  to  God  you  are  joking!"  Stephen 
said,  frowning. 

"Indeed  I  am  not  joking.  Fred — borrowed  some 
securities  from  the  safe,  a  long  time  ago,  three  or  four 
years,"  Lucretia  explained,  with  a  sudden  change  of 
voice  and  manner,  to  even  deeper  gentleness  and 
gravity.  "He  felt — he  feels — well,  frightfully  about 
it.  I  don't  think  Fred  was  afraid  of  anything  serious, 
Steve.  He  knows  how  unlikely  Mimi — the  bonds 
were  hers — would  be  to  make  trouble.  It  was  because 
of  your  engagement  to  Mimi  that  I  first  heard  all  this. 
Fred  knew  that  when  your  uncle  died,  and  you  took 
over  her  affairs,  he  must  be  discovered.  I  don't  know 
what  the  original  manipulation  was  for — speculation 
pure  and  simple,  he  thought  he  could  play  that  game! 
But  the  truth  was  that  he  lost  more  than  ten  thousand 
dollars." 

"Fred!" 

Stephen  said  no  more.  There  was  agony  in  the 
monosyllable,  and  he  buried  his  head  in  his  hands. 

"Do  you  think  that  he  didn't  feel  that,  too?"  she 
said,  eagerly,  reading  the  tone  aright.  "It  wasn't 
anything  else  Fred  feared,  it  was  you.  His  heart  was 
broken,  Steve.  He's  tried  hard,  for  Fred,  all  these 
years,  to  show  you  how  much  he  appreciates  all  you've 
done!  He's  lost  more  trying  to  get  the  first  money 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

back.  He  isn't  a  good  business  man,  Steve,  but  he 
does  love  you  with  all  his  heart." 

Her  pleading,  vibrant  voice  died  away  upon  utter 
silence;  she  sat  back  upon  her  hassock,  watching  the 
bowed  head,  and  the  fine  gripping  fingers,  with  sym- 
pathetic tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Fred  had  a  chance,  two  weeks  ago,  to  go  with  the 
new  rubber  company  to  Buenos  Aires  next  month, 
for  two  years,"  Lucretia  presently  continued.  Ste- 
phen, struck  afresh  by  her  words,  looked  up,  with  a 
haggard  face,  dropped  his  head  again.  "Atkins,  who 
was  getting  up  the  company,  asked  him,"  she  said, 
"and — you  know  Fred! — you  know  how  he  has  longed 
for  such  a  chance.  And  he  has  been  so  different, 
Steve — Fred's  grown  up  lately.  What  he  did,  years 
ago,  was  what  many  and  many  a  young  man  does — 

in  the  family,  as  it  were He  wants  a  fresh  start, 

he  hates  Sanbridge,  and  in  the  excitement  and  interest 
of  the  new  place 

"But  he  couldn't  leave  you  here,  with  your  uncle's 
affairs,  and  Mimi's,  and  this  deficiency  at  the  office 
to  be  discovered " 

Again  her  voice  died  away  against  his  unbroken 
silence,  and  she  laid  her  hand  upon  his  bowed  shoulders 
tenderly. 

"Steve,  please — just  tell  me  that  you  know  we  did 
this  because  we  wanted  to  spare  you!" 

"I — yes,  of  course  I  believe  that!"  he  said,  inco- 
herently. He  glanced  up,  looking  about  feverishly, 
as  if  he  sought  air.  "I — my  God,  how  blind  a  man 
can  be!"  he  muttered.  "Fred!  Fred!" 

"Steve,  was  that  any  more  than  thousands  and 
thousands  of  good  men  have  done  when  they  were 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  253 

boys?  Be  reasonable,  dear.  He  did  the  thing  on  a 
silly,  weak  impulse.  But  he  has  always  regarded 
Mimi  as  a  sister — to  touch  her  money,  especially  in 
the  hope  of  increasing  it,  seemed  just  a  sort  of  adven- 
ture. Remember  what  a  boy  he  is!" 

"Not  too  boyish  to  come  and  borrow  money  from 
a  woman!"  Stephen  observed,  bitterly. 

"I  offered  it,  Steve.  At  least,  I  remembered  my 
pearls,  down  in  a  safe-deposit  box  in  New  York! 
He  and  I  went  down  there,  day  before  yesterday,  got 
them  out,  carried  them  to  Tiffany's,  and  they  sent  us 
to  a  loan  society  in  lower  Broadway,  and  there  they 
offered  me  three  times  as  much  as  I  wanted!  I  made 
it  exactly  twelve  thousand.  I  gave  it  to  Fred,  and  we 
came  up  on  the  eight  o'clock  train  this  morning.  He 
went  down  to  the  office  to  attend  to  matters  connected 
with  this  affair — have  you  been  there?  So  every- 
thing is  all  right  to-day,"  she  finished,  triumphantly, 
"and  some  day  when  you  and  I  are  frightfully  pros- 
perous we  will  get  the  pearls  back- 
Suddenly  she  was  on  her  knees  beside  him  on  the 
floor,  as  he  had  so  often  knelt  beside  her,  and  she 
lifted  his  arms,  and  made  them  clasp  her. 

"Steve,  when  it's  all  over,  won't  it  seem  a  miracle," 
she  said,  "to  have  all  the  problems  of  Fred  and  Mimi 
and  your  uncle  swept  away,  and  the  political  fight  ended 
one  way  or  another,  and  Reilly's  insinuations  a  thing 
of  the  past— 

"Lucretia — Lucretia — Lucretia!"  he  said,  with  a 
sort  of  half-groan,  flinging  his  arms  about  her,  and 
straining  her  to  him  with  a  force  almost  violent.  "My 
darling — my  heart!  We  are  too  late!" 

She   had   laid   her   fragrant   smooth   cheek   against 


254  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

his,  but  in  the  silence  after  he  spoke  she  drew  away, 
and  studied  him  with  puzzled  rather  than  anxious  eyes. 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"My  uncle  asked  it,"  Stephen  said,  thickly,  and 
with  a  dry  throat.  "I  thought — I  thought  Fred  cared 
for  you " 

"Fred  does  care  for  me,"  Lucretia  answered,  roundly, 
with  wide,  stern  eyes  fixed  upon  him.  "But  what  has 
that  to  do  with  you  and  me?" 

Without  answering  he  got  to  his  feet,  his  fine  face 
dark  with  pain,  and  leaned  against  the  low  mantel, 
his  forehead  resting  upon  his  hand.  Lucretia  watched 
him  uneasily. 

"Steve,  what  is  it?" 

"Mimi  and  I,"  he  answered,  slowly,  "were  married 
an  hour  ago.  I  am  taking  her  to  New  York  to-night. 
It  was  only  because  there  were  some  matters  at  the 
office  that  I  had  to  attend  to,  and  that  you  said  in 
your  note  that  you  had  news  of  Fred " 

"But  what  are  you  saying?"  Lucretia  said,  dazed 
eyes  on  his  face,  her  tone  puzzled,  protestant,  almost 
faintly  amused.  She  came  to  him,  and  took  the 
lapels  of  his  coat  into  her  two  hands.  "What  are 
you  saying,  Steve?"  she  asked. 

"I— I  mean  it." 

" You're  joking!"  She  walked  away,  flung  herself 
and  her  thin  white  ruffles  into  a  basket  chair.  "But 
what  a  joke!"  he  heard  her  whisper,  her  arms  fallen 
limp,  her  eyes  staring. 

"I — God  help  us!"  Stephen  said,  abruptly. 

The  phrase  brought  into  her  face  the  first  trace  of 
real  apprehension. 

"What  did  you  say?"  she  asked,  in  a  voice  sudden! 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  255 

deep.  "But  of  course  you  are  punishing  me,"  she 
added,  beginning  to  breathe  hard,  and  trying  to  glance 
about  her  with  a  natural  air.  "Of  course  you  must 
frighten  me  for  keeping  this  from  you!  Steve,"  she 
broke  off,  in  her  most  exquisite  tones,  getting  up  to 
come  to  him,  and  smiling  like  a  pleading  child  into 
his  face,  "my  sweetheart,  my  own  dear  Steve,  don't 
frighten  me!  I've  had  so  much  to  bear — let  me  be 
happy  now.  Put  your  arms  about  me,  and  tell  me  that 
we  may  have  just  this  hour  of  thinking  what  life  is 
going  to  be  to  us — the  travel,  the  work,  the  friends — 
your  career!  I'm  sorry  if  I  made  you  angry  about 
Fred,  but  he  turned  to  me,  and  it  was  so  sweet  to  me 
to  feel  that  I  could  help  him,  and  that  I  could  do  some- 
thing for  you —  The  clouds  are  all  gone  now! 
We'll  redeem  the  pearls  out  of  your  first  big  fee,  Steve, 
and  in  a  few  years  the  people  of  Sanbridge  will  for- 
get that  Judge  Winship's  wife — that  Senator  Win- 
ship's  wife — wasn't  born  and  brought  up  here!  And 
Mimi'll  be  our  close  friend,  dear — you'll  see  how 
easily  I  win  her,  and  some  day  our  children  and  hers 
will  be  friends!" 

The  flood-tide  of  sweetness  and  loveliness  lifted 
him  off  his  feet,  he  felt  as  if  he  were  drowning  in  utter 
ecstasy  and  peace.  And  beneath  all  the  joy,  under- 
lining and  emphasizing  it,  was  an  agony  of  pain  so 
acute  that  he  knew  he  must  die  when  once  he  felt  it 
beginning  to  creep  about  him.  Ah,  if  she  had  once 
taken  this  note  before,  in  all  these  troubled  weeks,  if 
she  had  shown  him  this  girlish,  simple,  loving  Lucretia, 
with  her  fair  hair  crushed  over  so  innocent  and  candid 
a  brow,  with  her  young  exquisite  face  like  a  book — 
all  goodness  and  devotion,  for  him  to  read. 


256  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

How  beautiful  she  was,  in  the  plain  familiar  white 
frock,  the  rounded  figure  was  exquisite  in  every  pose, 
the  topaz  eyes  a  miracle  of  light  whether  they  flashed 
with  fire  or,  as  now,  melted  into  gold.  He  thought 
of  her  as  his  wife,  meeting  him  at  the  door,  coming  in 
furred  and  rosy  and  veiled  from  shopping  trips,  watch- 
ing him  across  the  dinner  table,  all  the  beauty  of  soul 
and  mind  and  body,  his 

"Lucretia,  I'm  sorry.  I've — I've  nothing  to  say. 
Make  it  as  easy  as  you  can  for  me,  for  God's  sake. 
We — Mimi  and  I — were  married  by  Bishop  Reynolds 
at  ten  o'clock !" 

This  time  she  believed  him.  The  color  drained 
slowly  out  of  her  face,  and  as  she  stood,  looking  fixedly 
at  him,  he  saw  her  breast  rise  and  fall  once,  stormily, 
and  that  the  muscles  of  her  white  throat  moved  spas- 
modically, as  if  she  were  conscious  of  choking. 

"I  see,"  she  said,  quickly  and  lightly,  in  a  dead 
silence.  "Your  uncle  wished  it,  of  course!  I — I — 
of  course!"  Her  voice  shook,  and  her  glance  wandered 
aimlessly;  she  was  making  the  one  supreme  effort 
of  her  life  to  maintain  her  self-control.  "I — thought 
you  were  joking,  Steve!"  she  whispered.  A  little 
flicker  of  her  nostril,  and  the  sudden  pressing  together 
of  her  lips  showed  how  close  was  the  storm.  But  she 
still  fought  it  resolutely.  "Now  you  must  go,  it's 
noon,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "And  you  must  believe 
that  I — I  understand.  I  shouldn't  have — shouldn't 
have  come  into  your  life,  and  Mimi's — God  knows  I 
wouldn't  have  done  so,  knowing.  No — no — no,"  she 
added  in  an  undertone,  as  if  to  herself,  "I  wouldn't 
have  done  that!  I  will  see  you  both — when  I  come 
back " 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  257 

Her  phrases  were  staggering  wildly.  She  lumped 
them,  as  it  were,  in  one  last  hasty  good-bye. 

"You  must  go  now;  I  am  going  back  to  Gunther's 
this  afternoon.  And  after  a  week  or  so  I  am  going 
away — I  don't  know  where.  But  meanwhile,  God 
bless  you,  dear " 

"Look  here!"  He  struck  down  the  hand  she  held 
out  for  a  farewell,  and  caught  the  whole  woman  in 
his  arms,  speaking  to  her  hoarsely  and  gratingly,  his 
hot  breath  close  upon  her  shut  eyelids.  As  he  looked 
down  upon  her  a  tear  slipped  free,  her  lips  were  trem- 
bling, and  she  held  them  pressed  tightly  together.  "Lu- 
cretia — Lucretia!"  he  said.  "That  you  care — this 
way!  I  never  dreamed  it!  I  thought  that  you  were 
playing  with  me — that  you  couldn't  suffer  as  I  was  suffer- 
ing— that  I  was  hurting  them  all — making  a  fool  of 
myself !" 

She  freed  herself,  and  for  a  full  minute  of  silence 
they  stood  panting,  and  facing  each  other. 

"You  dared  to  think  that!"  Lucretia  said  then, 
in  a  whisper.  "You  dared  to  doubt  what  I  had  told 
you!" 

In  one  terrible  moment  of  self-contempt  Stephen  saw 
what  he  had  made  of  his  life,  and  his  head  drooped, 
and  he  made  no  answer. 

"You  dared  to  take  that  girl,  to  please  her,  and  your 
family,  and  your  constituents,"  Lucreta  said,  in  splen- 
did scorn.  "And  you  will  take  her  to  New  York  to- 
night, and  introduce  her  to  the  world  as  your  wife- 
loving  me !  You  dare  ?  And  I  am  yours,  and  you 
are  mine,  by  God's  law,"  she  went  on,  restlessly  moving 
and  turning,  knotting  her  fingers,  pressing  them  to  her 
face,  sometimes  resting  her  elbows  on  the  mantel, 


258  LUCRET1A  LOMBARD 

and  clasping  her  hands  high  above  her  lowered  head, 
sometimes  pressing  both  hands  to  her  heart.  "We 
love  each  other — if  there  is  such  a  thing  as  love  in  the 
world!  It  made  life  over  to  me — every  twig,  every 
sunset  and  sunrise  was  different,  because  it  made  me 
think  of  you!  Why,  to  wake  up  was  heaven — this 
summer,  and  every  night,  when  the  moonlight  came 
into  my  room.  Oh,  Steve,  wasn't  myself  enough? 
Wasn't  it  enough  that  you  were  my  world — that  I 
longed  for  the  hour  that  would  have  made  me  your 
wife,  that  I  longed  for  the  years  ahead — all  the  years! 
God,  I  wonder  why  I  have  to  suffer  so!" 

In  her  mad  moving  about  she  had  flung  herself  into 
a  chair  at  the  table,  and  had  run  the  fingers  of  both 
hands  deep  into  the  magnificent  hair.  When  she  sud- 
denly got  to  her  feet,  and  came  back  to  the  hearth 
the  glory  of  the  tawny-brown  masses  was  loosened,  and 
tumbled  back,  in  a  rich  coil  on  her  shoulders,  giving 
an  additional  touch  of  tragedy  and  desperation  to 
the  blazing  topaz  eyes  and  the  white  face. 

"Now,  you  must  go,"  she  said,  in  a  dry  voice,  and 
quietly.  "You  had  better  get  hold  of  Fred  the  in- 
stant you  reach  the  office,  for  Fred  knows  it  all — about 
our  having  found  each  other.  I  told  him  for  several 
reasons.  I  wanted — what  am  I  saying?"  she  broke 
off,  fretfully.  "My  head  aches  so  horribly!  But  I 
told  him,  because  he  was  so  sure  that  Mimi  would 
marry  you He  might  say  something  to  her,  to- 
day, that  would  give  her  some  clue." 

"She  would  tell  him  of  the  marriage,  first,"  Stephen 
said,  in  a  dull,  lifeless  tone.  "I  want  you  to  know 
something  about  it,  Lucretia.  Bishop  Reynolds  is  an 
old,  old  friend.  He  married  her  mother,  and  mine. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  259 

He  came  down  unexpectedly  last  night,  from  Boston; 
he  goes  back  to-day.  The  opportunity— 

"I  see!"  she  said,  briefly  and  lightly.  He  realized 
that  she  was  almost  exhausted.  "You  must  go  now. 
I  may  not  see  you  again,  so  this  is  good-bye!" 

And  quickly,  with  an  air  of  almost  insufferable  pain, 
and  blinded  dry  eyes,  she  pressed  his  hand.  Some- 
thing like  a  ghastly  smile  flickered  on  her  face  for  a 
moment,  she  inclined  her  head,  he  heard  her  murmur 
that  he  could  let  himself  out.  A  second  later  he  heard 
her  address  Hannah  in  the  kitchen. 

For  a  minute  or  two  he  stood  still,  in  this  room  of 
memories,  feeling  the  bitter  waters  of  his  own  evoking 
rise  cold  and  bleak  about  him.  No  more  Lucretia. 
No  more  tea  beside  the  fire,  with  the  exquisite  voice  and 
the  flashing  eyes  giving  themselves  all  to  him.  No 
more  notes — meetings — no  more  hope  and  joy.  She 
was  gone. 

After  awhile — he  did  not  know  how  long — he 
went  downstairs. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  hot  dirty  street,  with  chaff  and  papers  eddying 
on  the  sidewalk  in  the  warm,  erratic  wind,  was  a  blank 
to  Stephen  Winship  as  he  walked  irresolutely  to  the 
corner,  remembered  that  his  own  car  was  waiting, 
and  went  back  for  it. 

"Well,  that's  over!"  he  said,  breathlessly.  But  the 
pain  at  his  heart  persisted,  the  frightful  sense  of  some- 
thing vital  and  beautiful  killed. 

"You  must  go  now,"  Lucretia  had  said.  "I  may 
not  see  you  again,  so  this  is  good-bye!"  The  word 
came  back  to  him,  the  accents  of  her  marvellously 
moderated  voice  stabbing  him  with  the  finality  of 
their  tone.  She  had  left  him  then,  and  somehow, 
blindly,  he  had  found  the  street. 

"Anyway,"  said  Stephen,  after  sitting  motionless 
for  an  indefinite  time  at  the  wheel,  "anyway,  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do." 

He  drove  away,  although  it  was  almost  a  physical 
impossibility  to  look  his  last  at  St.  Thomas',  and  his 
head  ached  stupidly  in  the  mere  effort  to  recall  the 
events  of  the  last  forty-eight  hours,  and  the  motives 
that  prompted  them. 

An  hour  or  two  ago  they  had  all  been  in  his  uncle's 
room — Mimi  in  the  blue  silk  dress — Aunt  Bessy  sniffing, 
and  glancing  about  in  the  heat  to  be  sure  the  windows 
were  open,  just  as  the  Bishop's  finished  voice  began  with 
"We  are  gathered  together.  .  .  ." 

200 


"  *  Now  you  must  £0,'  she  said  in  a  dry  voice.  'You  had 
better  get  hold  of  Fred  the  instant  you  reach  the  office.  Fred 
knows  all  about  our  having  found  each  other'  " 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  261 

Mimi  had  taken  off  her  hat  before  this,  and  smoothed 
the  dark  hair  that  had  been  roughened  by  the  quick 
trip  with  Stephen  to  the  City  Hall  and  to  the  jeweller's 
shop.  Her  first  act  as  a  married  woman  had  been 
to  lay  her  face  against  the  Judge's  emaciated  old  hand, 
and  cry  a  little  through  her  brave  smile.  Then  she  had 
kissed  him,  and  received  a  gallant  salute  from  the 
old  Bishop  upon  her  flushed  cheek,  and  then  had  fol- 
lowed kisses  for  Aunt  Bessy  and  Mrs.  Porter,  the  only 
other  witnesses  to  the  ceremony,  since  Fred  was  so 
mysteriously  absent. 

Everyone  had  cried,  there  had  been  low  laughter, 
too,  and  murmuring.  They  had  all  gone  out  into 
the  wide,  airy  hall,  where  Stephen  caught  his  wife,  and 
twisted  her  about  for  his  first  kiss. 

"Look  here,  don't  I  get  anything?" 

"Oh,  you —  — !     But  you  know  what  I  think  of  you!'9 

But  Mimi  had  kissed  him  frankly,  childishly,  none 
the  less,  before  going  into  tremendously  important 
questions  regarding  clothes,  and  Marjorie,  and  notes 
to  friends,  and  a  thousand  other  details  deliciously  ex- 
hilarating and  exciting. 

"I  ought  to  go  up  to  Red  Pine,  if  we're  really  going 
to  New  York,"  she  had  said,  "my  fitted  case  is  there, 
and  my  lovely  umbrella,  and  my  best  hat!  But 
never  mind — 

"We  can  get  another  hat!"  Stephen  had  assured 
her.  And  then,  when  they  were  all  -downstairs,  and 
the  possibility  of  their  voices  reaching  the  sick-room 
was  removed,  all  their  gaiety  had  dropped,  and  their 
tones  had  become  sober  and  fearful.  "Do  you  think 
we'd  better  go?"  Stephen  had  asked  his  aunt,  tenderly. 
And  with  brimming  eyes,  Mrs.  Curran  had  answered: 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Oh,  Steve,  I  don't  know  as  you  had  better!  He's 
—he's  getting  so  weak!" 

"You  have  the  consolation,  Mary,  of  having  made 
him  very  happy,"  the  Bishop  had  reminded  Mimi, 
who  put  a  protecting  arm  about  her  aunt's  shoulders, 
and  looked  at  the  others  almost  defiantly. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,  dear,"  Stephen  had 
decided.  "I'll  run  down  to  the  office  now,  and  attend 
to  one  or  two  matters,  and  see  if  there  is  any  word 
from  Fred- 

"I  don't  understand  Fred !"  Mrs.  Curran  had 

moaned,  faintly. 

"Meanwhile,  you  pack  what  you  need,"  Stephen 
had  continued,  "and  I'll  get  tickets,  and  wire  the  hotel. 
Then,  if  there  is  no  real  reason  to  be  alarmed,  at  half- 
past  nine  to-night  you  and  I  will  go  off  on  our  tour — 
in  any  case,  we'll  be  back  to-morrow  afternoon,  Aunt 
Bessy.  But  if  he  is  worse  this  afternoon,  then  without 
letting  him  know  that  we  haven't  gone,  we  can  just 
quietly  be  on  hand  in  case — well,  in  case " 

"Oo — oo — Sam!"  whispered  the  wife  of  forty  years, 
pressing  her  handkerchief  to  a  soft  old  face  almost 
frightened  with  grief.  The  wife  of  an  hour  held  her 
tighter. 

"Aunt  Bessy  darling!"  Mimi  had  pleaded.  "He'll 
notice — you  mustn't,  dear,  please!" 

And  Stephen  had  kissed  them  both  again,  solemnly, 
before  going  out  to  his  car.  It  was  on  the  doorstep 
that  Lucretia's  messenger,  a  son  of  old  Lejeal  of  the 
book-shop,  had  met  him.  The  note  was  for  him,  and 
there  was  no  answer. 

So,  she  admitted  that  she  knew  something  of  Fred! 
Stephen  had  reflected  grimly,  reading  it.  And  he 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  263 

wondered  if  there  was  any  possibility  of  their  having 
been  married  yesterday  in  New  York.  He  went  to 
Kingsgreen  Square  at  once. 

And  now,  dazed  and  disturbed  beyond  anything 
he  could  ever  remember  in  his  life,  he  was  driving  away 
from  her,  from  that  shaded  room  with  the  gently  bal- 
looning window  blinds,  and  the  sharp  sweetness  of  roses, 
and  the  echoes  of  that  amazing  and  heart-rending  voice. 

He  knew  what  he  must  do,  but  he  was  far  from  sure 
that  he  could  do  it.  Mimi  must  come  first,  of  course, 
even  though  Lucretia — yes,  and  himself,  paid  bitterly 
for  every  moment  of  that  loyal  protection.  Mimi 
had  always  been  protected;  the  time  for  him  to  end 
that  big-brotherly  care  had  passed  now.  It  had  all 
fallen  out  like  the  movement  of  a  play,  the  futile, 
half-hearted  effort  he  had  made  to  undeceive  her,  his 
own  wretched  doubt  and  wavering  trust  in  Lucretia, 
his  uncle's  illness,  his  affectionate,  almost  apologetic, 
overtures  toward  Mimi  that  the  girl  had  accepted  so 
happily  and  so  fully,  the  invalid's  plea  for  a  marriage— 
a  plea  that  could  not  be  denied,  and  finally,  just  when 
his  heart  was  sorest  toward  Lucretia,  and  just  when  the 
mysterious  and  baffling  interloper  had  quite  openly 
deceived  him  and  evaded  him,  the  Bishop's  timely 
appearance,  and  the  last  necessary  urge  provided  by 
this  sudden,  unmistakable  approach  of  death. 

Until  this  time  yesterday,  Stephen  told  himself, 
he  had  been  free.  He  had  felt  that  any  little  turn  of  the 
wheel  might  straighten  out  the  whole  tangle. 

Well,  the  wheel  had  turned,  and  there  was  no  tangle 
now.  His  path  lay  straight  ahead.  He  was  not  to  be 
saved  by  his  uncle's  death,  by  a  sudden  intuition  on 
Mimi's  part,  and  a  sudden  softening  in  Lucretia. 


264  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"I  must  be  weak,"  Stephen  told  himself,  as  in  the 
burning  heat  of  the  midday  he  mounted  the  odorous, 
wide,  iron-and-cement  halls  to  his  office.  "Or  per- 
haps it  is  that  I  have  never  had  much  to  do  with  women. 
I  don't  understand  them!" 

And  he  looked  ahead  to  travel,  to  the  establishment 
of  a  home,  to  taking  his  place  in  the  community,  with 
Mimi  beside  him.  Christmas — summer  on  the  moun- 
tain, dinner-parties,  the  club.  The  whole  dream  fell 
lifeless;  he  could  not  animate  it;  he  could  not  make  it 
seem  real.  He  could  do  it,  of  course,  and  he  would  do 
it.  He  would  admire  the  new  hat,  and  admire  the 
vivacious  young  face  under  it;  he  would  always  con- 
sider her,  guard  her,  spoil  her. 

But  there  was  none  of  the  glamour  here  of  the  dream 
he  had  had  one  day  of  Lucretia:  Lucretia  beside  him 
at  a  steamer  rail,  a  tropical  breeze  blowing  a  white  veil 
from  her  white  hat,  and  curling  the  tawny  tendrils 
of  her  hair.  The  shining  topaz  eyes,  the  rich  voice, 
the  clean-cut  line  of  the  beautiful  lips — these  would 
be  far  away,  out  of  his  life,  never  to  be  his  again. 
A  little  trick  she  had  of  pressing  those  beautiful  lips 
together,  and  of  drawing  the  fine  brush  of  her  delicate 
brown  eyebrows  together,  when  she  was  thoughtful, 
rose  up  in  his  memory,  and  a  salt  tension  in  his  throat 
gave  him  a  moment  of  acutest  pain. 

He  opened  the  office  door;  Fred,  with  a  face  of  misery, 
pleasure,  and  entreaty,  turned  about  in  a  swivel  chair, 
got  quickly  to  his  feet,  and  came  instantly  toward  him. 

"Steve — old  boy!  You've  seen  Lucretia?  You're 
not  angry  at  me?  Say  that  you  know  I  know  what  a 
skunk  I've  been,  and  that  you  aren't  angry?"  Fred 
said,  eagerly.  "Steve,  say  anything  you  want  to,  but 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  285 

just  let  me  tell  you — just  let  me  tell  you  what  a  hell 
I've  been  in!  For  three  years — more  than  three  years, 
I've  had  this  accursed  thing  on  my  mind  every  minute, 
day  and  night!  It  was  Unger  that  got  me  into  it, 
said  that  he  could  turn  four  thousand  into  forty — 
it  seemed  as  safe  as  a  church — I  wanted  you  to  see 
what  I  could  do!  And  then  when  it  was  gone,  I  kept 
hoping  that  somehow  I'd  make  a  deal  somewhere, 
and  that  my  slice  would  be  four  or  five  thousand. 
And  then  I  took  more,  just  after  old  Rutger  made  that 
six-to-one  haul — it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  to  take  the 
chance.  You  don't  know  what  I  went  through — 
honest,  Steve- 
Stephen  had  remained  standing,  looking  at  his  brother 
with  the  kind,  keen,  sorrowful  look  that  would  be  his 
harshest  for  Fred,  come  what  might. 

"I  wish  you  had  come  to  me,  Fred,"  he  said,  slowly, 
in  the  first  pause. 

"Steve,  how  could  I?  I  knew  that  you  hadn't  any 
such  surplus!" 

"I  could  have  gotten  it!" 

"Yes,  but  you  had  all  the  rest  of  the  whole  crowd 
on  your  hands!  I — Steve,  I  couldn't  tell  you.  And 
whenever  we  got  a  case,  I'd  plan  to  put  something 
toward  the  thing — I  did  put  more  than  four  thousand 
back,  for  I'd  gotten  it  down  to  less  than  eleven!  And 
if  Uncle  Sam  hadn't  been  taken  ill,  I  would  have  cleared 
it  all  up  long  before  Mimi  ever  asked  for  her  securities! 
Steve,  I  know  how  rotten  it  was " 

His  voice  hung  upon  an  anxious  question,  he  smiled 
at  his  brother  with  something  of  the  penitent  timidity 
that  had  made  him  so  lovable  a  child  a  few  years  ago. 

"We  shall  have  to  arrange  to  pay  her  back  immedi- 


266  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

ately.  I  can't  allow  her  to  loan  us  money.  I  want  you 
to  give  that  your  first  attention  while  I'm  away. 
If  you'll  see  the  Trust  Company,  I'm  sure  they'll 
accept  our  note.  I'll  manage  to  take  it  up  as  soon  as 
I  get  back.  .  .  .  You  certainly  have  complicated 
things,  old  boy,"  Stephen  finished,  mildly,  with  a  long 
sigh. 

"If  I've  really  gotten  you  in  wrong !"  Fred 

began,  anxiously.  But  immediately  he  was  confident 
again.  "Lucretia  Lombard  is  one  woman  in  a  million, 
Steve,"  he  said.  "I  suppose  she  told  you  how  she 
pulled  me  out?  No  hesitation  about  it,  no  questions; 
it  was  just  a  matter  of  arranging  how  fast  we  could 
get  her  pearls  out  of  storage,  and  get  some  money  on 
them!  Going  down  in  the  train  I  said,  'I  don't  know 
why  you're  so  decent  about  this,  Lucretia!'  And  then 
she  told  me,  Steve,  how  much  you  had  come  to  mean 
to  her,  and  that  you  two  would  some  day  be  married. 
She  was  helping  me  out  to  save  you  from  worry.  She 
told  me  all  about  Mimi. 

"By  George,"  said  Fred,  simply,  "you  could  have 
knocked  me  down!  Steve,  I  never  got  onto  it  at  all. 
Of  course  she  told  me  that  her  being  a  widow  so  re- 
cently, and  everything  being  upset  at  the  house  would 
keep  this  all  quiet  for  awhile,  but  I  feel  awfully  happy 
about  it,  Steve — she's  the  woman  in  the  world  for  you! 
I  wish  you  could  have  seen  people  stare  at  her  when 
we  walked  down  Fifth  Avenue — and  let  me  tell  you, 
it  doesn't  faze  her!  She's  used  to  it,  she  makes  'em 
all  stand  'round ! " 

"I'm  very  sorry  that  you  should  have  learned  of  my 
feeling  for  Lucretia,  Fred,"  Stephen  said,  steadily  and 
simply,  with  a  grave  face.  "You — you  mustn't  men- 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  267 

tion  this  again,  of  course.  But  in  every  way  my  loy- 
alty is  due  to  Mimi — she  and  I  were  married  this 
morning,  at  ten  o'clock,  and  we  are  going  to  New  York 
to-night." 

But  even  as  he  said  the  words,  they  did  not  seem 
true. 

Fred  stood  staring  at  him  blankly  for  a  full  minute. 

"What's  that?  .  .  .  You  and  Mimi? "he  said, 
stupidly,  at  last. 

"I  mean  it,"  Stephen  answered,  seriously.  And  he 
turned  to  hang  his  straw  hat  upon  its  peg,  with  what 
he  tried  to  make  a  natural  and  quiet  manner. 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  Fred  said,  flatly,  in  a  toneless 
voice. 

"It  is  true,  nevertheless."  Stephen  drew  a  pile 
of  mail  toward  him,  and  glanced  at  the  topmost  letters 
wearily  and  indifferently.  "We  tried  to  get  you — 
you  were  out  of  town,"  he  continued,  lifelessly.  "You 
can  do  me  a  favor,  Fred,  by  just  dropping  the  whole 
matter,  and  standing  by  Aunt  Bessy  while  Mimi  and 
I  are  in  New  York.  Mimi  is  a  splendid  woman,"  he 
added,  passing  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  as  if  to 
brush  some  troublesome  mist  away,  "too  good  for  me, 
or  for  any  man!  I  propose  to  take  care  of  her,  and 
of  Aunt  Bessy,  and  go  straight  ahead  with  Uncle 
Sam's  affairs  and  with  Mimi's.  Mrs.  Lombard  is, 
I  believe,  to  sail  for  England  very  soon.  Did  you 
answer  this  option  from  Cheseborough,  Fred?  I  see 
the  Civic  Centre  estimates  are  in 

Fred,  whose  handsome  face  was  a  little  pale,  and 
wore  a  look  of  compunction  and  concern  extremely 
unusual,  came  to  sit  opposite  his  brother  at  the  flat- 
top desk,  and  stretched  out  his  hand. 


268  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Stevie,  I  know  just  what  you're  doing,"  he  said,  a 
little  huskily,  "I  haven't  meant  much  to  you,  Steve. 
But  it'll  be  different  from  now  on;  I'll  stand  with  you 
through  it  all.  She  is  a  fine  woman,  Steve — Mimi, 
I  mean,  and  I  think  you've  done  right,  and  I  know  it'll 
all  turn  out  right.  I'll  go  out  and  see  Lucretia,  too, 
and  talk  to  her  to-night!" 

"She's  gone  up  to  Gunther's  this  afternoon.  But 
thank  you,  Fred!"  was  all  Stephen  said.  But  the  two 
brothers  had  never  been  so  close  together  in  all  their 
lives. 

"We'll— we'll  pull  out  of  this  all  right!"  Fred  said, 
somewhat  uncertainly,  watching  the  orderly  swift 
manipulation  of  the  mail. 

"Of  course  we  will!"  Stephen  laid  another  letter 
in  the  wire  basket,  rang  for  his  stenographer,  dictated 
several  letters  in  his  usual  manner.  "I  have  one 
forty-seven,"  he  said  presently  to  Fred,  who  was  effi- 
ciently busying  himself  with  various  matters,  in  that 
flood  of  peace  and  gratitude  known  only  when  a  long 
strain  is  raised.  "I  told  Aunt  Bessy  I'd  be  home  for 
a  late  lunch  at  two — will  you  come  along?" 

"Say,  wasn't  it  funny  that  Mimi  didn't  say  anything 
about  your  being  married  to  her  when  I  telephoned?" 
Fred  said,  suddenly  struck. 

"I  didn't  know  you  did  telephone  her?" 

"Sure  I  did.  Just  before  you  came  in,  about  quarter 
past  twelve.  I  was  afraid  Uncle  Sam  was  worse,  or 
something — we  only  talked  for  a  minute.  Say " 

Fred's  tone  sank,  his  eyes  grew  troubled,  and  he 
scowled  at  some  unwelcome  thought. 

"Say,  I  may  have  said  something  about  Lucretia!" 
he  said,  horrified. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  269 

"What  could  you  have  said  about  Lucretia  ? "  Stephen 
asked,  sharply. 

"Well,  I  don't  know — I'm  trying  to  think.  Lucretia 
told  me  that  you  had  told  Mimi,  you  know.  By 
George,  I  wish  I  could  remember  what  I  said!  I 
thought  from  what  Lucretia  said  that  the  engagement 
was  all  off — that  Mimi  understood.  I  think  I  said 
'Say,  what  do  you  think  of  Steve  and  Lucretia?" 

"I  sincerely  hope  you  didn't!"  Stephen  said,  pro- 
foundly concerned. 

"I  don't  think  she  heard  me!"  Fred  assured  him, 
hastily  and  uneasily. 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"Well — I  can't  remember  exactly!  She  said  Aunt 
Bessy  was  calling  her,  and  that  she  had  to  run — and 
to  come  home  to  lunch — 

"I  hope  she  didn't — however,  it's  not  serious," 
Stephen  said.  "I  did  end  our  engagement,  and  I  did 
explain  why.  But  I  didn't  mention  Lucretia's  name! 
However—  — !  Suppose  we  go  right  along  home  now, 
and  see  them.  You  can  help  me  a  lot,  Fred,  by  just 
taking  everything  for  granted,  and  seeing  us  all  through 
this  mix-up." 

"I— Steve,  I'm  sorry!  I  will!"  Fred  said,  follow- 
ing him  down  to  the  car. 

"Mimi  is  a  sensible  girl,  and  she'll  not  make  any 
fuss  just  now,  whatever  she  heard,"  Stephen  said, 
reassured  himself,  as  he  took  the  wheel.  He  was  tired, 
he  seemed  to  hear  Lucretia's  voice  the  moment  there 
was  silence. 

"You  dared — loving  me!" 

The  baking,  breathless  day  was  full  of  echoes  and 
voices >  far  up  to  the  north  the  forest  fires  still  filled 


£70  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

the  air  with  a  dreamy  blue  haze;  it  was  hard  to  see  where 
the  summer  azure  of  the  sky  ended  and  where  the 
unnatural  blue  of  far  pine  forests  began. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  the  forest  fires  are  worse  this 
year,  Steve!" 

"It's  just  the  clearness  of  the  day,  I  imagine.  Al- 
though I  saw  something  in  the  paper  this  morning 
about  a  call  for  volunteers — Chief  Terry  offering  them 
ten  dollars  a  day,  I  believe.  Usually  the  local  depart- 
ments can  manage  them!" 

"Lucretia  said  that  last  year  there  were  actual 
wood  cinders  on  Gunther's  porch!" 

"Yes,  I  remember  last  year  was  bad.  It's  a  bad 
business — one  of  our  national  wastes!'' 

They  were  at  the  Curran  house,  and  went  in  together. 

Mrs.  Curran  met  them;  everything  was  just  as  usual 
in  the  sick-room,  Mimi  was  lying  down,  tired  out,  and 
no  wonder.  She  had  been  awake,  and  in  and  out 
of  her  uncle's  room  all  through  the  long  hot  night; 
she  wanted  sleep. 

"And  considering  the  trip  to-night,"  the  old  lady 
said,  with  the  nearest  approach  to  happiness  that  she 
had  shown  for  several  weeks,  "I  think  it's  the  wisest 
thing  she  could  do!  My  boy  married  to  dear  little 
Mimi,"  she  added,  her  soft,  fat,  wrinkled  cheek  against 
Stephen's  coat  sleeve.  "It  just  seems  too  sweet  to 
be  true!  Dear  girl — you  couldn't  have  a  lovelier  wife, 
Steve,  and  when  I  think  of  the  way  you  two  have  loved 
each  other — been  just  like  brother  and  sister  all  your 

lives !  Mimi Bring  in  the  lunch  all  at  once,  Emma," 

Mrs.  Curran  interrupted  herself,  for  they  were  at  the 
table  now.  The  pudgy  little  hands  manipulated  forks 
and  glasses  in  fussy  solicitude.  "Mimi And  a  napkin 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  271 

for  Mr.  Fred,  Emma.  Mimi,"  said  her  Aunt  Bessy, 
with  a  sort  of  fond  maternal  cluck,  "wanted  to  run 
up  to  Red  Pine,  actually,  for  her  suit-case  and  her  best 
hat,  and  I  don't  know  what  all!  But  I  told  her  her 
husband  would  see  she  got  everything  she  wanted  in 
New  York !  Dear  me,  I  remember  Mini's  mother 

The  old  voice  ran  on  happily,  it  was  all  the  more 
tremulously  glad  because  it  had  been  so  lately  tuned 
by  grief.  And  Sam,  the  fond,  blind  old  wife  had  per- 
suaded herself,  was  really  better;  there  was  a  peaceful 
look  in  his  face,  she  said,  and  even  the  nurse  was  as- 
tonished at  the  brightness  with  which  he  smiled. 

Stephen  listened,  looked  up  with  a  grave,  abstracted 
frown,  made  himself  smile  sympathetically.  The 
cold  chicken,  the  tomato  jelly,  were  so  much  sawdust 
to  his  taste;  after  a  few  moments  he  did  not  try  to 
choke  them  down.  He  had  an  important  meeting  at 
five  o'clock,  but  Aunt  Bessy  must  interrupt  it  if  "there 
was  any  change."  And  he  was  glad  Mimi  was  getting 
some  rest. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

LUCRETIA,  meanwhile,  had  gone  into  her  bedroom  and 
shut  the  door.  And  for  almost  an  hour  she  sat  motion- 
less, staring  straight  ahead  of  her  into  space,  until  the 
early  afternoon  sun  crept  round  to  the  brick  wall  of 
St.  Thomas',  and  the  glare  hurt  her  dry,  aching  eyes. 

"So,"  she  said,  softly  and  audibly  then,  "that's  the 
way  it's  going  to  be?" 

And  she  got  lamely  and  slowly  to  her  feet,  brushed 
the  gold  mist  of  hair  from  her  eyes,  looked  irresolutely 
at  the  suit-case  that  was  opened  upon  the  bare  mattress 
of  the  bed,  and  somewhat  dazedly  began  to  add  certain 
small  articles  from  the  dressing-table  to  its  contents. 

"I  will  not  die,  and  I  will  not  kill  myself,"  she  said 
out  loud,  after  awhile,  "and  I'm  twenty-nine.  Thirty- 
nine,  forty-nine,  fifty-nine !  At  fifty-nine  perhaps  I 

shall  not  care.  We  might  have  had  grandchildren  then, 
Steve,  a  big  country  house  with  porches  and  trees,  and 
our  children's  children  coming  to  us  for  the  holidays! 

"But  that,"  she  added,  in  a  quiet,  unemotional 
voice,  "that  was  not  to  be.  No.  He  and  Mimi  are 
married " 

She  finished  her  packing,  brushed  up  her  bright  hair, 
pressed  the  white  hat  down  over  it,  and  slipped  into 
her  loose  white  coat. 

"I  must  get  away!  But  where  can  I  go?  I  can't 
stay  here — I  can't  stay  in  this  room!  But  if  I  should 
go  somewhere  and  be  ill,  if  I  should  be  ill — and  I  might!— 

272 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  273 

Mrs.  Gunther  would  take  care  of  me,"  she  murmured, 
feverishly.  "She  expects  me  back  to-day,  anyway. 
I'll  go  back.  I  can  plan,  there.  And  if  I  should  be 
ill — raving — she  would  protect  me 

"But  I  must  get  there  before  I  begin  to  cry.  I  can 
go  on  the  four  o'clock  train.  If  I  cry  there — nobody 
need  see  it.  I  can  stay  in  bed.  But  I  can't  stay  here, 
not  where  Stephen  has  been  so  many  times.  That 
chair — that's  where  he  used  to  sit,  with  that  stern  sort 
of  smiling  look  of  his.  Oh,  my  God — not  to  have 
Stephen  in  my  life  any  more! But  I  mustn't  cry. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  struck  by  a  bullet,  in  the 
heart,"  she  said,  when  she  was  seated  in  the  train,  after 
an  hour  or  two  that  seemed  to  have  left  no  record  in 
her  memory.  "But  fortunately — fortunately — I  don't 
seem  to  have  any  desire  to  cry.  If  I  can  weather  this 
for  a  few  weeks — pack  things  up,  and  get  away!" 

She  opened  her  magazine,  and  studied  a  full-page 
photograph  of  a  sixteen-year-old  theatrical  star. 

"It  astonishes  me,"  she  told  herself,  almost  aloud, 
"for  I  cried  so  frightfully  when  I  was  first  married. 
I  remember  when  we  were  at  Mentone,  every  time  I 
met  any  one  in  the  hotel  I  wanted  to  cry.  And  heavens ! 
how  I  cried  when  Mama  died " 

She  drummed  lightly  with  her  fingers  upon  the  brown 
linen  cover  of  her  chair,  arching  her  throat  suddenly, 
and  shutting  her  eyes. 

"But  I  mustn't  think  of  that — I  mustn't  think  of 
things  like  that!"  she  warned  herself  quickly,  reopening 
the  magazine.  "  Sixteen  years  old,  and  a  salary  bigger 
than  the  President's !  She's  pretty — I  wonder  what  life 
will  mean  to  her  at  twenty-nine !  It  won't  be  roses,  roses 
all  the  way,  I  suppose !  Twenty-nine.  I  thought  I  was 


274  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

going  to  be  so  happy!  I  thought  no  matter  what  came 
to  us,  it  would  be  so  wonderful.  A  little  table,  and  a 
green  lamp—  And  in  summer  we  would  put  a 
suit-case  in  the  car,  and  go  off  into  the  mountains 
for  week-ends!  But  I  must  not  think  about  it " 

The  train  hammered  on,  in  dust  and  heat.  A  yellow 
glare  seemed  to  envelop  the  rocking  car.  Villages 
swam  by,  shabby  in  midsummer  heat.  Toward  the 
north,  the  blue  haze  of  the  distant  fires  added  one  more 
note  of  heat  and  dazzle  to  the  whole. 

Lucretia  pinned  her  veil,  to  descend  at  Farley's, 
eager  for  a  breath  of  mountain  air.  It  was  while  she 
was  standing  in  the  car,  watching  the  bags  that  were 
being  hastily  assembled  by  the  porter,  that  glancing 
casually  down  the  littered  aisle,  she  first  saw  Mimi. 

Mimi's  chair  was  only  some  ten  feet  away;  she  was 
lying  back  in  it,  bare-headed,  and  with  closed  eyes. 
Her  dark  hair  was  in  some  disorder,  and  her  face  white, 
and  stained  quite  unmistakably  with  tears. 

Lucretia  did  not  know  why,  but  she  did  not  want 
Mimi  to  see  her!  If  Mimi  was  wounded,  she  was 
wounded,  too;  this  was  no  time  for  them  to  meet. 

"She  feels  terribly!"  Lucretia  thought,  getting  into 
the  Gunther  surrey  with  only  an  absent  greeting  for  the 
expectant  old  driver.  "Poor  child,  she  feels  terribly. 
She  has  found  out  in  some  way!  She  is  running  away 
from  him!  It  can  be  nothing  else." 

And  looking  at  the  rising  walls  of  the  forest,  stream- 
ing now  with  the  pennants  of  the  hot  afternoon  sun, 
she  felt  her  heart  ache  for  the  young  wife,  weeping — 
running  away — on  the  very  day  of  days,  in  the  crowning 
hour  of  her  life! 

The  thought  was  followed  by  another.     Who  would 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  275 

be  at  the  cabin  when  Mimi  got  there?  Not  Stephen, 
not  Fred,  not  the  Rutgers.  She  would  be  all  alone,  with 
the  old  Italian  woman.  Lucretia  felt  a  pang  of  terror. 
She  was  not  going  to  kill  herself? 

"Surely  not,  sane  little  Mimi."  But  there  had  been 
a  look  of  desperate  anguish  upon  the  white  face. 
Lucretia  felt  the  first  twist  of  uneasiness  grip  her. 

She  wanted  no  supper;  she  stood  in  the  dining-room 
door  only  for  a  moment,  shaking  her  head,  with  a  great 
wave  of  distaste,  at  the  mere  thought  of  the  wilted 
salad  and  the  boiled  rice.  Food  would  choke  her. 

Life  was  all  a  pain  and  a  bewilderment.  Stephen — 
Mimi — herself;  the  triangle  melted  and  formed,  melted 
and  formed  again  endlessly,  in  her  mind.  It  was  sun- 
set when  a  sudden  impulse  seized  her,  and  she  told 
Mrs.  Gunther  that  she  was  going  to  walk  over  the  hill 
to  Red  Pine. 

"You  ain't  going  to  walk  over  that  mountain  to- 
night!" the  old  lady  said,  incredulously. 

"I  think  I  will.  There's  an  hour  of  daylight  left. 
Anyway,  the  fires  are  almost  close  enough  to  give 
their  own  light  to-night!  And  there  will  be  a  moon." 

"They've  got  that  fire  under  control,"  a  man  said. 

"So  I  understand.  We  saw  some  fighters  coming 
back  when  we  drove  up  to-night."  Lucretia  pinned 
her  broad-brimmed  hat.  To  see  Mimi,  to  talk  to  her, 
whether  she  knew  anything  or  not,  was  something 
definite  to  do!  And  action  was  welcome,  any  action 
that  held  off  the  dreadful  moment  when  everything 
that  concerned  Stephen  must  drop  further  and  further 
into  the  past. 

Mimi  did  understand,  of  course.  Was  there  any 
other  conceivable  construction  to  place  upon  her  ashen, 


276  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

tear-stained  face,  upon  her  running  away  from  her 
uncle,  her  aunt,  and  the  man  to  whom  she  had  been 
married  a  few  hours  ago? 

Up  the  mountain  road,  in  the  warm  light,  went 
Lucretia,  taking  the  six  miles  steadily,  almost  without 
thought  of  any  effort.  The  road  grew  brighter  at  the 
top  of  the  hill,  and  she  could  see  the  twilight  beginning 
to  blend  with  the  dull  pink  glow  of  fire  far  away.  But 
on  the  other  side  of  the  summit  it  was  almost  dark  in 
the  warm  odorous  woods,  and  Lucretia  began  to  think 
that  her  sudden  appearance  far  up  in  this  lonely  place, 
might  give  Mimi  and  the  old  Italian  woman  a  moment 
of  unpleasant  shock. 

However,  the  cabins  stood  in  a  clearing,  and  there  was 
still  clear  and  shadowless  twilight  about  them,  min- 
gling mystically  with  the  first  timid  light  of  a  great 
moon  that  was  rising  slowly  over  the  orchard.  Not  a 
breath  of  air  stirred,  and  about  the  place,  as  Lucretia 
came  down  the  woodland  road  toward  it,  lingered  a 
most  unnatural  silence. 

She  called,  standing  still  in  the  garden : 

"Mimi!    Matea!" 

There  was  absolute  silence.  Then  a  bat  looped  the 
dusk,  and  some  sleepy  bird  broke  the  stillness  with  a 
muffled  drowsy  chuckle,  under  leaves. 

Lucretia  felt  frightened.  She  went  up  the  steps, 
pushed  open  a  screen  door,  stepped  into  the  warm, 
dark  interior.  Her  heart  stopped  beating,  plunged, 
and  began  to  race  again.  She  had  caught  the  unmis- 
takable sound  of  muffled  sobbing. 

She  went  swiftly  toward  a  bedroom  door,  and  saw  a 
girl's  figure  outlined  against  the  dim  square  of  pale 
gray  that  was  the  bedspread. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  277 

Timidly  Lucretia  went  to  stand  beside  her,  touched 
her  shoulder. 

"Mimi — it's  Lucretia." 

Mimi  turned  over,  sat  up,  sniffing.  Her  breast  was 
still  heaving,  her  voice  thick  with  tears,  and  Lucretia 
sensed  rather  than  saw  that  her  hair  and  gown  were 
dishevelled. 

"Mimi,  I  was  worried  about  you!"  Lucretia  said,  all 
her  heart  going  out  in  pity  and  affection. 

"Oh,  you?"  Mimi  said,  dazedly,  without  surprise. 
"Who — I've  been  lying  down! — who  is  with  you?" 

"I'm  alone.     I  walked  over  the  mountain." 

"Oh,  I  see!"  Mimi's  voice  was  thick  and  rough 
with  tears.  Obviously  she  did  not  see.  "I'll — I'll 
light  the  light!" 

"Let  me!"  Lucretia  fumbled  eagerly  at  the  little 
bedside  table,  scraped  a  match;  the  plain  little  country 
bedroom,  in  its  chintzes  and  white  wood  furniture, 
wavered  uncertainly  into  view.  Shadows  grouped  and 
dissolved,  as  a  hot  wandering  breath  of  wind  came  in 
at  the  opened  windows. 

Mimi's  face,  under  its  blotches,  was  pale,  pathetic, 
and  very  young.  Her  surprised  and  questioning  eyes 
gleamed  between  tear-sopped  lashes.  She  looked  like 
a  child,  and  when  she  spoke  her  voice  had  the  resentful 
accents  of  a  crying  child. 

"I  suppose  you  know  what  I'm  crying  about!"  she 
said,  beginning  to  cry  again. 

Lucretia's  tone  was  exquisitely  finished  and  deep, 
as  she  answered,  quietly: 

"I  suppose  I  do." 

"I  have — I  have  loved  Stephen  Winship  all  my  life!" 
said  Mimi,  her  breast  rising. 


278  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

Lucretia  laid  her  fingers  over  the  hand  nearest  her. 

"I  know  you  have." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Mimi,  defiantly,  putting  her  feet 
toward  the  floor,  and  giving  her  eyes  and  nose  a  firm 
pressure  with  her  damp  handkerchief  before  she  rolled 
it  into  a  sodden  ball,  "perhaps  you — you  like  Stephen, 
too!  I  suppose  you  may  feel " 

She  stopped,  again  like  a  child;  this  one  frightened 
at  its  own  daring.  There  was  a  silence  in  the  warm, 
candle-lighted  room,  and  then  Lucretia  said,  mildly: 

"What  I  feel,  Mimi,  is  of  no  consequence  whatever!" 

"Excuse  me,  but  I  think  it  is!"  Mimi  said,  trembling. 
"If  Stephen  Winship  loves  you — then  I  think  it  is 
of  consequence!  I  think  it  is  of  supreme  consequence! 
You  can't  put  me  off  by  saying  that  it  doesn't  matter, 
and  you  can't  make  me  feel  that  it's  right.  I  was 

engaged  to  him "  Mimi  was  crying  bitterly  now, 

"and  you  know  it!" 

Silence.  Lucretia's  beautiful  face  was  grave  with 
pain.  After  awhile  she  said : 

"Mimi,  did  you  have  any  supper?" 

Mimi  had  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  She  raised 
her  head. 

"Did  I  what?     No,  I  didn't  want  any  supper!" 

"Where  is  Matea?" 

"I  don't  know.  She  left  a  note,  but  I  can't  read  it; 
it's  in  Italian.  I  don't  know  where  she's  gone  to," 
said  Mimi,  fretfully.  "She  never  goes  off  this  way!" 

"She's  gone?     You  would  have  been  alone  here!" 

Evidently  the  concern  in  the  lovely  voice  reached 
Mimi,  for  there  was  the  first  hint  of  a  softening  in  her 
tone  as  she  answered: 

"Yes,  she's  not  here.     I'm  all  alone!" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  279 

"And  you  have  had  no  supper?" 

"Oh,"  said  Mimi,  desperately,  "I  don't  want  any 
supper!" 

Lucretia  moved  to  the  bureau,  where  the  dim  mirror 
was  full  of  dark  reflections.  She  laid  aside  her  hat. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  she  said,  almost  absently. 
Mimi  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  tousled  and  resent- 
fully watchful,  her  tears  slowly  drying.  Lucretia  went 
out  of  the  room,  and  into  the  kitchen. 

After  a  few  minutes  Mimi  slowly  and  unwillingly 
followed  her.  Lucretia  had  put  bread  and  fruit  on  the 
table,  and  a  china  pitcher  of  milk. 

"We  shall  do  very  well,"  said  the  older  woman, 
mildly.  "Matea  cannot  intend  to  be  long  away,  for 
everything  is  here.  There  is  cold  meat  and  a  fruit  pie 
of  some  sort,  and  all  this  cake!" 

"I  don't  know  why  you  should  wait  upon  me!"  Mimi 
said,  sulkily,  from  the  doorway. 

For  answer  Lucretia  gave  her  a  grave,  measuring 
look,  as  she  moved  a  chair  to  the  table. 

Mimi  came  toward  her  with  a  rush. 

"There — that's  what  Matea  left,  if  you  can  make 
anything  of  that!"  she  said,  tumbling  a  small  piece  of 
white  paper  on  the  table.  Lucretia  spread  it  open, 
and  the  girl  was  impressed  in  spite  of  herself  by  the 
casual  manner  in  which  she  read  it  and  said: 

"Matea  was  afraid  of  the  fire;  she  has  gone  to  stay 
with  her  son." 

"Afraid  of  these  forest  fires!"  Mimi  said,  scorn- 
fully. "She  had  no  business  to  go!  We  have  forest 
fires  nearly  every  year.  I  don't  know  why  I'm  talking 
like  this!"  she  broke  ofF,  faltering,  and  dropping  into 
a  chair  she  buried  her  head  in  her  arms  upon  the  table. 


280  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"I'm  not  usually  so  cross!"  sobbed  Mimi.  "But  I 
had  a  bad  night,  and  this  morning  the  Bishop — and  I 

wanted  to  say  then "  she  went  on,  incoherently, 

"I  wanted  to  say  then  to  Steve  that  perhaps  he  wasn't 
sure — because  of  what  he  had  said  that  Sunday,  up 
here " 

"It  is  exactly  about  all  that  that  I  have  come  to 
see  you!"  Lucretia  answered,  when  the  young  voice 
suddenly  stopped. 

There  was  a  silence,  in  which  Mimi  dried  her  eyes, 
and  looked  up,  but  without  meeting  Lucretia's  glance, 
and  somewhat  composed  herself,  although  still  with  the 
same  hurt  and  stubborn  face.  She  put  out  a  hand, 
and  straightened  the  candle-wick,  breathing  hard  all 
the  time,  and  occasionally  touching  her  eyes  with  a 
fresh  handkerchief. 

"Will  you  have  some  supper?"  Lucretia  asked, 
watching  her. 

"I'm — truly  I'm  not  hungry!" 

"Nor  am  I.  But  it  will  only  exhaust  you  and  per- 
haps give  you  a  headache  to  fast,"  Lucretia  said, 
patiently. 

"I  don't  get  headaches!"  Mimi  answered,  in  a  low, 
quick  voice. 

"I  hoped  you  would  talk  to  me  about  this,  Mimi," 
Lucretia  said,  with  some  dignity.  "I  came  here  from 
Gunther's  to-night  in  the  hope  that  we  might  under- 
stand each  other.  You  make  me  feel  that  it  was  a 
mistake.  I  cannot  very  well  leave  you  alone  to-night, 
but  to-morrow  we  can  go  in  to  Warren's  Mills  together. 
Or,  if  Matea  comes  back,  I  will  go  back  to  Gunther's 
alone!" 

There  was  a  certain  finality  in  the  tone  that  was 


LUCEETIA  LOMBARD  281 

disquieting  to  Mimi.  She  was  naturally  anxious,  above 
all  things,  to  think  and  talk  of  her  own  most  dreadful 
affair,  and  the  thought  that  Lucretia,  who  was  un- 
expectedly reserved  at  times,  might  give  her  no  other 
opportunity,  rilled  her  with  disappointment.  The 
fact  of  Lucretia's  coming  to  her  was  at  least  reassuring, 
and  the  other  woman's  quiet  acceptance  of  her  duty 
in  remaining,  whatever  the  circumstances,  while  Mimi 
needed  her,  appealed  to  the  girl  even  through  her  fatigue, 
despair,  and  fear. 

She  did  not  answer  Lucretia  in  words,  but  she  poured 
herself  a  glass  of  milk,  and  raising  it  to  her  lips,  looked 
seriously  at  Lucretia  over  the  top  of  her  glass.  And 
when  Lucretia  smiled  encouragingly  and  affectionately 
at  her,  Mimi's  lip  trembled,  and  she  put  down  the  glass, 
and  fumbled  for  her  handkerchief  again. 

But  this  time  her  tears  were  softening  and  healing 
and  before  they  were  dried  she  laid  her  hand  over 
Lucretia's  hand,  and  managed  a  watery  smile  in  return. 

"Don't,  Mimi,"  said  Lucretia,  blinking,  "or  you 
will  make  me  cry,  too,  and  then  we  shall  never  get 
anywhere!" 

And  for  a  few  moments  they  devoted  themselves  to 
the  meal,  to  which  Mimi,  reviving  visibly,  brought  a 
young  and  healthy  appetite. 

"I  hope,"  said  Lucretia  then,  "that  you  will  go 
back  to  town  to-morrow  a  very  happy  and  confident — 
bride,  and  that  you  will  never  have  any  cause  to  doubt 
Stephen  again,  in  all  your  life!" 

"No,"  said  Mimi,  steadily  and  sadly,  "I  am  going  to 
give  him  up !  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  all  day — coming 
up  in  the  train  I  thought  I  was  going  to  die  I  And  I 
have  made  up  my  mind,  I  am  going  to  give  him  up." 


282  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"I  hope  you  will  change  your  mind,  then,"  Lucretia 
said,  a  little  pale. 

"Let's — it's  so  hot  in  here,  let's  go  out  on  the  porch!" 
Mimi  said,  restlessly.  They  darkened  the  kitchen, 
and  stepped  out  to  the  east  porch,  below  which  lay 
a  wooded  valley  flooded  with  moonshine.  "It  is 
the  forest  fires  that  are  making  the  air  so  awful  to- 
night," Mimi  said.  "But  we  are  going  to  have  a 
storm,  the  air  is  heavy  with  it!  Sit  down ' 

She  sat  down  herself,  on  the  top  step,  Lucretia  taking 
a  wicker  rocker  a  few  feet  away. 

"I  certainly  could  not  be  any  man's  wife,  knowing 
that  he  did  not  love  me! "  said  Mimi,  without  preamble, 
after  a  silence. 

"I  hope  you  love  him  enough  to  do  the  only  thing 
that  is  right,  Mimi,"  answered  Lucretia. 

"Give  him  up?"  the  girl  said,  proudly. 

"No — harder  than  that!"  the  thoughtful  voice  from 
the  shadows  answered  again. 

Mimi  locked  her  slim  arms  about  her  knees,  staring 
down  at  the  pinnacled  descending  tops  of  the  trees 
bathed  in  gray  moonlight. 

"I  can't!"  she  said. 

"Mimi,  you  are  married  to  him  now,"  Lucretia 
reminded  her. 

Mimi  turned  about  on  the  step,  leaning  her  arms 
across  Lucretia's  knees,  her  eyes  shining  in  the  darkness. 

"Can  you  say  truthfully — can  you  say  truthfully — 
that  you  would  talk  this  way,  if  Steve  and  I  hadn't 
gone  through  that — that  ridiculous  ceremony  this 
morning  ? " 

"But  why  do  you  call  it  ridiculous,  Mimi?"  Lucretia 
asked,  digressing  in  surprise. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  283 

"Because  it  was  I  Because  I  never  should  have 
allowed  it." 

"It  is  a  curious  thing,  that  ceremony,"  Lucretia 
said,  musingly.  "It  seems  to  be  so  trifling.  But  it  is 
an  important  thing,  Mimi,  as  you  will  see  if  you  think 
for  a  minute!" 

"A  marriage  like  that  can  be  annulled!"  said  Mimi, 
in  whose  mind  the  word  had  been  running  all  day. 

"It  might  be,  although  I  don't  know  exactly  for 
what  cause.  You  might  find  that  Bishop  Reynolds 
had  something  to  say  about  that — I  understand  that 
he  is  extremely  inflexible  about  such  matters.  What 
cause  would  you  give  for  annulling,  Mimi?  Usually 
it  follows  an  elopement,  or  a  bigamy— 

"Ugh!"  Mimi  interrupted,  shuddering,  and  was 
silent.  "Isn't  it  enough  that  people  don't — don't 
love  each  other?"  she  asked,  after  awhile. 

"But  you  and  Steve  do  love  each  other!" 

"Only  that  he  loves  somebody  else  more,"  stam- 
mered Mimi,  thickly,  looking  away. 

"But  let  us  speak  of  your  annulled  marriage  first," 
Lucretia  said.  "Have  you  any  idea  what  that  would 
mean  to  him,  just  now?  You  went  with  him  to  the 
license  bureau  this  morning — those  records  are  public, 
you  know,  the  morning  papers  will  certainly  mention 
it  conspicuously.  Your  aunt  and  Mrs.  Porter  know 
of  the  marriage,  I  suppose?" 

"And  Marjorie  and  Ted — and  the  maids,  and  Grace, 
and  the  doctor,"  Mimi  contributed.  "We  didn't 
try  to  keep  it  a  secret!  Why  should  we?  But 

"Now,  for  no  apparent  reason,  this  marriage  is 
annulled,"  Lucretia  pursued.  "Can  you  imagine 
what  that  would  mean  to  Stephen's  political  opponents? 


284  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

It  would  ruin  him.  He  would  be  marked  for  the  rest 
of  his  life! 

"Mimi,"  she  went  on,  as  Mimi  was  silent,  "there 
was  an  old  officer  in  England,  we  knew  him  well,  a 
few  years  ago.  When  he  was  a  lieutenant,  coming 
back  from  Sedan,  a  certain  group  of  six  or  seven  im- 
pulsive English  girls,  meeting  the  soldiers  in  London, 
threw  their  arms  about  him,  and  kissed  him  in  the 
street.  Nearly  fifty  years  later,  when  I  first  met  him, 
he  was  a  General — but  he  was  still  known  as  'Kissing 
Tommy' !  Those  girls  and  their  foolishness  had  marked 
him  for  life!/' 

"But  this  is'different!"  said  Mimi,  with  just  a  hint 
of  something  eager,  something  yielding,  in  her  voice. 

"Different  because  it  is  infinitely  more  serious!" 
Lucretia  answered. 

The  girl  sat  still,  her  fingers  knotted,  her  face,  with 
its  faint  frown,  turned  toward  the  moon  that  was 
sailing  through  an  obscured  sky. 

"Lucretia — don't  you  love  him?"  she  asked,  pres- 
ently. "Can  you  honestly  tell  me  that  you  don't?" 

Again  there  was  silence,  and  then  Lucretia  said 
steadily: 

"No,  I  cannot  tell  you  that." 

"Then  why  are  you  talking  to  me  this  way  ?  "Mimi 
said,  childishly. 

" Perhaps,"  the  other  woman's  voice  said,  slowly, 
"because  I  do!" 

Mimi  was  impressed,  and  everything  that  was  gener- 
ous and  fine  in  her  rose  to  meet  the  situation.  She 
put  her  hand  up  to  take  Lucretia's. 

"The  past  is  the  past,  Mimi,  we  cannot  undo  it," 
Lucretia  said.  "But  you  are  a  woman  now,  and  you 


He  could  despise  me,  and  I  would  win  him! 
:led  a  thousand  times,  and  I  would  go  to  him 


•ould  be 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  285 

must  face  the  future  with  courage — like  all  the  rest 
of  us!  You  have  never  had  sorrow,  but  you  will  have 
your  own  and  your  aunt's  to  bear.  And  you  have 
never  had  discipline,  but  the  next  year  will  be  hard 
for  you,  my  dear!" 

The  words  were  infinitely  bracing  to  Mimi,  who 
felt  herself  admitted  by  them  to  that  world  of  helping 
and  serving,  and  bearing  and  enduring  and  renouncing, 
to  which  she  had  always  been  an  outsider.  That  was 
Steve's  world — Lucretia's  world — a  world  of  dignity, 
of  poise,  of  self-denial  and  self-development,  and  Mimi 
stood,  a  little  awed,  at  its  gates,  and  felt  her  young 
spirit  dedicate  itself  to  a  new  life,  a  heroic  and  splendid 
life  in  which  she  would  do  what  was  fine  and  right. 

"I  want  to  do  what  is  right,  for  Steve!"  she  faltered, 
with  watering  eyes. 

"And  I  want  to  do  what  is  best,  for  Steve,"  Lucretia 
echoed,  quietly,  but  with  such  sadness  in  her  voice 
that  Mimi  felt  her  first  pang  of  genuine  pity. 

"Lucretia,  but  if  he  loves  you?"  she  said. 

"Surely,  in  a  heart  as  big  as  his,  there  is  room  to 
love  us  both!"  Lucretia  said. 

"But — but  if  he  wants  to  marry  you,  Lucretia! 
If  it's  that  sort  of  love?" 

"He  loves  me,"  Lucretia  assented,  gently  drumming 
upon  the  hand  she  held  with  her  own  smooth  hand, 
and  speaking  in  a  voice  almost  abstracted.  "And 
I  am  prouder  to  think  that  he  loves  me,  than  of 
anything  else  that  has  ever  come  into  my  life!  Other 
men  have  loved  me,  Mimi,  and  other  men  will,  but  it  is 
this  quiet,  good  dear  Steve  of  yours  who  has  changed 
all  my  life  for  me!" 

Mimi  could  not  speak,  tears   rushed  to  her  eyes. 


286  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"Steve  is  not  like  most  men,"  said  Lucretia, musingly, 
"he  is  the  most  unselfish — the  only  truly  unselfish — 
man,  that  I  have  ever  known!  If  it  is  for  your  happi- 
ness— Fred's — any  one's  happiness,  then  he  has  infinite 
time  and  patience  to  spend!  If  it  is  for  himself— 
then  he  cannot  judge.  You  must  always  manage  him, 
Mimi,  take  care  of  him,  and  see  that  life  doesn't  im- 
pose upon  him  too  much.  I  met  him  when  I  was 
lonely — some  day  I  will  tell  you,  perhaps,  of  the  odd 
little  circumstances  that  made  the  beginning  of  that 
friendship  so  wonderful.  I  knew — almost  instantly, 
that  I  loved  him.  Women  will  always  love  him! 

"And  if  he  had  been  free,"  she  went  on,  presently, 
as  Mimi  did  not  speak,  "I  think  we  might — but  he  is 
not  free.  He  has  loved  you  ever  since  you  were  a 
little  girl,  and  now  you  are  his  wife!  And  it  is  for  you 
to  decide  whether  you  will  wreck  his  life,  ruin  his 
political  career,  or  whether  you  will  be  a  little  patient, 
whether  for  all  their  sakes  you  will  not  have  the  courage 
to  wait.  Why,  Mimi,  in  a  year  or  two  you  may  be 
going  to  Washington,  the  wife  of  Senator  Winship— 
perhaps  with  your  beautiful  baby  in  a  nurse's  arms, 
Stephen  with  you " 

Mimi  put  her  face  down  against  the  smooth  hand,  and 
kissed  it,  and  kept  her  cheek  there  for  a  few  moments 
of  silence. 

"Do  you  think  a  memory  of  me  will  trouble  him 
then?"  Lucretia  asked.  "I  will  be  far  away — I  am 
going  away  now,  I  will  not  see  him  again!  And  they 
all  need  you — everyone  of  them,  and  they  will  need  you 
during  all  these  days  of  strain  and  change— 

"Lucretia,"  said  Mimi,  looking  up  with  wet  cheeks, 
"why  are  you  so  good  to  me?" 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  287 

Lucretia  did  not  answer  for  awhile,  her  free  hand 
moved  gently  on  Mimi's  head. 

"Good!"  she  said  at  last,  with  a  hint  of  bitterness 
in  her  voice.  "I  am  not  good!  I  knew — when  he 
came  to  tea  with  me,  when  my  whole  life  was  just 
for  those  half-hours — and  to  watch  his  mouth,  when 
he  smiled,  and  to  hear  his  voice — I  knew  that  I  had 
no  right,  starved  that  I  was,  even  to  that!  But,  Mimi, 
Mimi — you  must  forgive  me,  for  I  love  him  so!  He 
could  despise  me,  and  I  would  win  him!  He  could 
be  tied  a  thousand  times,  and  I  would  go  to  him,  in 
the  face  of  the  world — as  his  wife — his  mistress — 
anything  he  asked  of  me,  so  that  I  might  live!  So 
that  we  might  have  one  year — one  little  year — of  joy!'* 

Mimi  was  frightened,  for  Lucretia  had  risen  sud- 
denly, and  had  walked  to  one  of  the  rough  pillars  of 
the  porch.  She  encircled  it  with  one  arm,  looking  off 
into  the  moonlight,  tone  and  manner  full  of  a  tragedy 
and  passion  utterly  unlike  her  usual  self-control. 

"Do  you  think  that  his  Senatorship,  that  money  or 
position  or  success  would  make  any  difference  to  me?9' 
she  asked,  almost  fiercely,  turning  to  glance  over  her 
shoulder  at  her  companion.  Her  beauty,  as  she  stood 
there,  with  her  superb  figure  outlined  against  the  starry 
bright  sky  of  clear  blue,  eyes  and  hair  alike  radiating 
their  strange  golden  glints  and  sparkles,  was  so  ex- 
treme as  almost  to  startle  the  watching  girl.  "Those 
things — to  me?9'  Lucretia  went  on,  quickly  and  an- 
grily. "I  have  had  them,  and  been  wretched!  I  have 
been  without  them,  and  been  happy!  I  would  have 
asked  him  to  go  with  me  to  Italy,  to  some  little  blue 
house  up  in  the  grape  country,  I  would  have  asked  him 
to  go  with  me  to  Barbadoes,  where  the  warm  rains 


288  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

come  three  times  a  day,  between  floods  of  sunshine; 
we  would  have  wandered  through  India  and  China 
and  in  and  out  of  Paris  streets!  Whatever  we  had, 
it  would  have  been  enough,  and  more  than  enough, 
for  me!" 

The  splendour  of  the  vision  shamed  Mimi.  And 
she  had  been  teasing  him  about  a  house  in  Keystone 
Road,  she  thought,  with  burning  cheeks.  She  had 
fretted  over  Pembroke  and  Chippendale! 

"But  I  could  have  married  him,"  Lucretia  went  on, 
still  in  the  same  hurried  and  passionate  way,  "if  your 
uncle  had  died — if,  as  I  thought,  he  had  made  you 
understand " 

"He  did  try!"  Mimi  interrupted,  overwhelmed 
at  her  own  stupidity.  "But — but  I  couldn't  under- 
stand!" 

"I  could  have  married  him,  and  come  back  to  my 
own  little  house  next  to  St.  Thomas',"  Lucretia  pur- 
sued, as  if  she  had  not  heard  her.  "I  would  have  made 
his  friends  my  friends,  I  would  have  helped  him  in  his 
work.  But  the  one  thing  I  cannot  do,"  she  added,  her 
tone  suddenly  low  and  grave,  as  if  she  spoke  half  to 
herself,  "is  just  what  you  propose.  I  cannot  hurt 
him !  If  we  were  ever  married  now,  we  must  go  away. 
Away  from  his  brother,  his  work,  from  you,  who  need 
him.  He  feels  that  you  are  a  sacred  charge,  Mimi, 
and  the  time  would  come — the  time  would  come! — 
when,  wherever  we  were,  whatever  we  were  doing, 
the  past  would  rise  up  like  a  ghost,  and  he  would  long 
for  home,  for  snowy  winter  afternoons  in  his  office, 
and  summer  afternoons  at  the  club,  for  all  the  men  and 
women  he  knows,  and  for  Fred  most  of  all,  and  for  you ! 
And  then  what  could  I  say?  No,  no  woman  in  the 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  289 

world  is  so  young,  and  so  beautiful,  and  so  loved  that 
she  dares  do  that!" 

"But,  Lucretia — if  I  went  back  to  him  to-morrow — 
how  could  I  keep  all  this  secret — keep  it  from  him  that 
I  know,  and  that  you  and  I  have  had  this  talk?"  Mimi 
said,  eager  to  be  told. 

Lucretia  came  back  to  her  chair,  and  sat  down, 
patting  the  girl's  hand  in  silence  again. 

"Why  not  tell  him?"  she  asked,  in  a  weary  voice. 

Mimi's   heart   lifted. 

"You  think  I  might?" 

"  I  think  you  must.  And  then  you  will  know  your- 
self how  to  treat  him.  Be  cold  to  him,  if  you  like," 
said  Lucretia,  her  whole  aspect  exhausted  and  col- 
lapsed. "Refuse  to  forgive  him,  if  you  like.  Your 
uncle  will  not  live  another  forty-eight  hours,  you  will 
have  enough  to  do!  Be  patient." 

"Lucretia,"  said  Mimi,  solemnly,  " I  will  never  forget 
this  talk  to-night.  And  I  will  try!" 

Lucretia  bent  her  face  over  the  young,  earnest  face, 
and  they  kissed  each  other. 

"But,  Lucretia,  suppose — suppose — even  after  a 
year  or  two,  he  still  cares?"  Mimi  asked,  in  a  sudden 
panic. 

They  were  standing  now,  and  Lucretia  laid  her  arm 
lightly  about  the  girl's  waist  as  she  answered,  confi- 
dently: 

"He  will  care  only  for  his  wife,  then.     I  know  him!" 

Mimi  had  an  inner  conviction  that  this  was  true. 
He  was  to  have  the  most  devoted,  the  most  capable, 
the  most  loyal  wife  in  the  world!  And,  after  all,  he 
did  love  her! 

"And  don't  count  this — hard  as  it  has  been — as  all 


£90  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

a  sorrow,  Mimi,"  Lucretia  said.  "You  will  love  him 
the  more  for  this.  You  will  understand  him  better! 
It  will  make  everything  plainer  to  you." 

"I  know  it,"  Mimi  said,  soberly.     "I  feel  it!" 

She  put  her  arms  about  the  other  woman's  neck, 
and  looked  up  at  her  almost  reverently. 

"Lucretia,  how  am  I  ever  going  to  thank  you?" 

To  this  Lucretia  could  find  no  answer.  She  was 
the  taller  of  the  two,  and  could  look  down  at  Mimi's 
girlish  slimness.  She  made  no  effort  to  conceal  the 
sudden  brimming  of  her  eyes  and  the  first  tremble 
of  her  firm  lips. 

"You  must  not  make  me — I  shall  be  lost  if  I  cry!" 
she  said,  whimsically  and  unsteadily.  And  then,  with 
a  second  quick  kiss,  she  turned  to  the  house.  "Do 
they  know  that  you  are  here?"  she  asked.  "Should 
we  telephone  your  aunt  ? " 

"Marjorie  knows,  and  she  was  to  telephone  them 
at  about  five  that  I  had  come  up  here,  and  that  I 
wanted  some  clothes,"  Mimi  said.  "I  was  afraid 
that  they  would  stop  me!  So  they  know  I  am  here, 
and  of  course  they  suppose  Matea  is,  too.  I  will 
telephone  in  to  Warren's  Mills,  as  soon  as  the  telephone 
girl  comes  on  in  the  morning — that's  about  nine,  I 
think — and  they  will  send  up  a  car  to  take  you  back 
to  Gunther's,  and  me  to  the  train! — What  was  that!" 

There  was  terror  in  her  sudden  change  of  tone;  both 
women  drew  back  with  instinctive  fear,  as  some  wild 
woodland  creature  ran  across  the  garden,  and  disap- 
peared toward  the  valley  below  them. 

"A  fox!"  Lucretia  whispered,  half-questioning. 
"I  have  no  idea  what  it  was!  A  wolf,  perhaps?" 

"If  I  had  been  here  alone,"  shuddered  Mimi.     "I 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  291 

hate  those  things!  There  are  foxes  in  these  woods, 
they  used  to  come  after  our  chickens,  when  we  had 
chickens!  But  wasn't  he  bold?  Look!  There's  an- 
other!" 

"That's — unmistakably — a  bobcat!"  breathed  Lu- 
cretia,  holding  both  Mimi's  hands  tight,  as  a  second 
animal  fled  noiselessly  by.  "Chasing  the  fox,  perhaps! 
But  how  eerie — to  see  such  creatures  at  night!" 

"I  have  a  gun — let's  load  it!"  said  Mimi,  with  a 
nervous  laugh.  "I  hate  them —  — !  Suppose  one 
came  and  scratched  on  the  window  netting — what  could 
we  do?" 

"I  am  thinking  that  I  walked  through  those  woods, 
when  it  was  quite  dark,  a  few  hours  ago,"  Lucretia 
said,  her  own  laugh  full  of  uneasiness.  "Suppose  one 
of  these  gentry—  -  Let's  go  in!" 

The  little  diversion  was  a  relief;  they  could  talk 
naturally,  almost  gaily  together.  There  were  two 
beds  in  Mimi's  room,  and  it  was  arranged  that  they 
should  sleep  there.  A  few  moments  later  the  sudden 
howl  of  a  wild  animal,  far  up  in  the  woods,  brought 
Mimi  from  the  bathroom,  and  Lucretia  from  the  bed- 
side, with  one  bound,  to  the  gun. 

"Heavens!  I  never  heard  the  woods  so  wild  as 
to-night,"  Mimi  said,  a  little  pale,  "and  I  have  been 
coming  here  for  years!" 

"Or  is  it  that  we  are  just  a  little  solitary,  and  so  we 
notice  it?"  Lucretia  suggested. 

"Uncle  Sam  has  a  revolver  here;  shall  we  load  it?" 
Mimi  asked. 

"I  can  fire  it,"  Lucretia  said.  Both  firearms  were 
gravely  loaded,  and  for  perhaps  an  hour  the  two  lay 
wakeful  in  their  beds,  reading  and  listening.  Nothing 


292  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

more  of  their  own  affairs  was  said;  and  the  evening 
closed  at  midnight  with  a  simple  good-night. 

Lucretia  was  excited  and  exhausted;  there  was  ex- 
altation, too,  in  her  mood.  But  she  was  too  tired  to 
think.  Almost  as  soon  as  Mimi's  even  breathing  an- 
nounced that  the  younger  woman's  agitations  of  the 
long  day  were  ended,  Lucretia  felt  a  heavenly  drowsi- 
ness stealing  over  her.  She  turned  on  her  pillow,  in 
the  country  silence  and  darkness;  there  was  no  pain, 
no  problem,  no  bitter  sacrifice.  New  York  this  morn- 
ing— to-night  so  strangely,  here! 

Elevated  trains — fields  outside  the  car  windows — 
green  sunshine  streaming  through  jalousies — Stephen 
— Fred — Mimi — merging  in  a  haze.  Finally,  there  was 
only  a  hazy  Lucretia — half  of  this  world,  half  of  some 
other  just  as  near  and  familiar 

She  was  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HER  first  waking  thought  was  that  she  was  a  little 
girl  again,  back  in  the  nursery  of  her  aunt's  home  in 
Baltimore,  with  her  cousin  Harriet's  black  braid 
lying  across  the  pillow  of  the  near-by  bed.  It  must  be 
winter,  for  although  even  through  her  closed  eyes 
there  was  a  sense  of  bright  sunshine,  Cynthia,  the  old 
colored  nurse,  had  lighted  a  fire.  Lucretia  could  hear 
its  bright  loud  crackling,  and  the  room  was  hot — 

This  was  not  her  room  in  the  rectory — this  was  not 
New  York ! 

She  turned  over — of  course,  she  was  up  at  Red 
Pine  with  Mimi  Warren!  Memory  returned  full- 
fledged;  but  there  was  something  still  unexplained. 
The  heat — and  that  crackling,  purring  sound,  so  in- 
finitely disquieting ? 

"Mimi!"  But  waiting  only  to  see  the  black  head 
stir,  Lucretia  ran  with  the  swift  feet  of  terror  to  the 
porch.  She  looked  up  toward  the  wooded  rise  of  the 
mountain  she  had  crossed  last  night.  "Oh,  God, 
it's  the  fire!"  she  said. 

Straight  up  beyond  the  green  plumy  tops  of  the  trees 
rose  a  yellow  wall  of  thick  dense  smoke,  mingling  into 
strange  grays  and  greens  as  it  met  the  hot,  close  sky. 
A  horrible  muffled  purring  and  bubbling,  always  with 
an  obligate  of  brisk  crackling  and  snapping,  sounded 
through  the  lifeless  air.  Birds,  with  dry  cawing  and 
crying,  were  flying  over  the  cabin,  and  two  gray  bob- 

293 


294  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

cats,  their  green  eyes  mad  with  fear,  fled  by  even  while 
Lucretia  stood  rooted  with  horror  to  the  cabin  porch. 

Mimi  was  beside  her;  there  was  no  need  for  words. 
It  was  escape  now — just  life — breath  and  freedom 
again! 

"The  telephone !"  whispered  Lucretia. 

"They  couldn't  reach  us!" 

"Our  shoes,  dear — we  can't  get  anywhere  barefoot!" 

They  were  dressing,  both  ashen-faced,  both  breathing 
like  runners. 

"Oh,  Lucretia — that  noise!  And  it  will  catch  us — 
it  seems  to  fly!  An  Italian  family,  last  year — Matea's 
niece,  and  her  husband,  and  four  dear  little  chil- 
dren  !" 

"Don't  think  of  it!"  They  were  running  through 
the  kitchen.  "Here,"  Lucretia  said,  dashing  milk 
into  glasses,  "drink  this !" 

"Ah,  please !  Every  second!"  Mimi  pleaded, 

even  while  she  gulped  obediently.  Lucretia  caught 
up  a  basket,  brushing  into  it  cake  and  bread. 

"Water!"  she  said.  "We  may  find  it!  We  dare 
not  stop!" 

They  ran  through  the  hot  little  kitchen,  out  into  a 
blaze  of  sunshine  hazed  with  smoke,  through  which 
wood  cinders  were  sifting. 

"No  wind!"  Mimi  said,  her  teeth  chattering  as  they 
ran. 

The  cabin  and  its  clearing  were  almost  at  the  top 
of  a  great  cleft  between  two  mountain  ranges.  Be- 
tween it  and  the  road  to  Gunther's,  at  the  right,  was 
the  wall  of  fire.  Down  this  right-hand  flank  ran  the 
Warren's  Mills  Road,  too  perilously  near  the  flames 
already,  sure — as  both  women  saw  with  sickened 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  295 

hearts — to  be  cut  off  long  before  they  could  cross  it. 
Between  the  two  ridges  lay  the  steep  walls  of  the  valley; 
the  fire  would  swoop  there  in  great  sheets  of  flame. 

To  plunge  into  the  smothering  peril  of  those  woods 
was  unthinkable;  they  must  take  the  left-hand  ridge, 
come  what  might.  Their  only  hope,  and  a  terrible  hope 
it  seemed,  in  this  hour  of  agonized  fear,  was  to  turn  to 
the  unknown  and  uncharted  rise  of  forest  at  the  left, 
to  scramble  through  the  dense  growth  somehow,  to 
the  summit,  to  strike  some  old  lumber  road,  or  some 
mountain  clearing,  or  perhaps,  by  some  miracle,  to 
meet  other  fleeing  refugees,  who  could  help  them  to 
safety. 

Mimi  led  the  way — there  was  no  waste  of  words. 
They  skirted  the  orchard,  and  the  tennis-court,  flying 
over  the  soft  dirt  paths  just  as  the  frightened  animals 
had  been  flying  all  night  long.  When  they  reached  a 
little  cabin,  Matea's  cabin,  on  the  left  wall  of  the  valley, 
they  stopped  for  a  few  seconds  of  consultation. 

"No  hope  of  the  Warren's  Mills  Road,  Mimi?" 

"No."  Mimi  looked  down  the  steep  cut.  "The 
fire  isn't  two  miles  away  from  it  at  the  Mill!"  she  said. 

Lucretia  looked  up  at  the  mountain  back  of  them. 

"Is  there  a  road  through  these  woods?" 

"None.     None  that  we  could  ever  find!" 

Panting,  they  looked  at  each  other.  Then  Mimi 
began  to  tremble. 

"Lucretia ?"  she  whimpered.  "Will  it— will 

it— 

"We  shall  have  to  do  our  best!"  Lucretia  answered. 
"It's  moving  southeast,  you  see — toward  Warren's 
Mills  and  the  railroad.  So  we  don't  dare  go  any  di- 
rection but  this — this  must  be  northwest!" 


296  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"But,  Lucretia — there's  nothing — there's  nobody 
there!  Just  the  lumber  woods — for  miles  and  miles!" 

"But  that's  our  way!" 

Lucretia  briskly  set  off,  Mimi  following.  The  air 
was  smoked  and  parching  with  heat;  they  did  not  talk, 
the  older  woman  resolutely  moving  along  a  dim  old 
trail,  Mimi  following,  with  an  occasional  backward 
look  toward  the  ominous  crackling  and  purring  be- 
hind them. 

For  an  hour  the  sound  of  the  fire  and  the  rustle  of 
dry  oak-leaves  underfoot  were  the  only  interruption 
of  the  summer  stillness.  Then  the  trail  stopped  at  a 
weather-beaten  lumber  cabin,  some  wood-chopper's 
casual  home,  and  there  must  be  a  moment  of  con- 
sultation again. 

"Mimi — we  must  keep  moving  up!  There  is  just 
a  chance !" 

"We  have  no  chance!"  Mimi  said. 

"  But  we  must  move  up !  If  we  get  into  one  of  these 
valleys  we  are  trapped!" 

"I  know !"  Mimi  shuddered. 

"Up,  then ! "  Lucretia's  face  was  pale,  but  there  was 
infinite  courage  in  the  spring  with  which  she  took  a 
trackless  way  between  the  trees.  The  two  had  pushed 
their  unbrushed  hair  under  brimmed  hats,  and  these 
and  the  hastily  assumed  garments  were  snatched  and 
struck  by  many  a  random  branch  or  briar  as  they 
climbed  upward  in  the  burning  heat. 

Where  the  pines  were  large,  there  were  compara- 
tively open  spaces,  carpeted  with  dry  pine  needles, 
and  easy  to  traverse.  But  the  tangled  woods  of  oaks, 
and  maples,  and  birches,  thick  with  undergrowth, 
made  heavy  walking,  and  every  step,  especially  in  the 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  297 

merciless  morning  heat,  tugged  at  breath  and  strength 
cruelly. 

They  reached  a  summit,  the  ground  miraculously 
levelled,  there  was  a  prospect  of  descent.  But  they 
feared  descent. 

"Mimi,"  Lucretia's  hot,  scratched  face  peered 
through  the  young  dogwoods  that  her  bare  hands 
parted,  "have  you  any  idea  where  we  are?" 

"None.  I've  lost  all  sense  of  direction!  But — 
but  we  can  tell  from  that!"  Mimi  avoided  the  word, 
but  she  jerked  her  head  backward  toward  the  pur- 
suing murmur  and  roar  of  the  flames.  "The — the 
Italian  family — but  they  were  much  further  north 
than  this — were  all — found — right  on  the  railway 
track !"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  know!     I  remember  reading  of  it!" 

"They  couldn't  escape,  even  on  the  level,  Lucretia." 

"Yes,  I  know.  Are  you  a  little  rested  ?  Suppose  we 
strike  up  through  here,  staying  on  this  ridge,  what- 
ever it  is If  we  could  come  to  an  opening — and 

see!" 

Mimi's  face  was  scarlet;  she  looked  like  a  hot  child, 
her  dark  hair  clinging  to  her  wet  forehead. 

"Lucretia — is  it  any  use?" 

"My  darling — we  cannot  lie  down  here  and  let  it 
catch  us!" 

Mimi  had  been  sitting,  her  back  bowed,  elbows  on 
knees,  and  her  weary  head  on  her  arms. 

"We  didn't  bring  a  watch!" 

"No — but  look  at  the  sun.  It  must  be  between  ten 
and  eleven!" 

Mimi  looked  up  through  thick  netted  branches  at 
the  hot  blue  sky  that  was  filmed  with  yellow  smoke. 


298  LTJCRETIA  LOMBARD 

Without  a  word  they  went  on,  running  where  they 
could  run  for  a  few  feet,  stopping  sometimes  to  rest 
against  a  low  branch,  or  with  a  fallen  log  for  a  seat, 
when  the  pain  in  Mimi's  side  choked  her,  or  when  in- 
decision as  to  their  way  gave  them  a  moment's  respite. 

"We  are  on  a  sort  of  spur,  I  think!" 

"  But  suppose  it  just  ends  nowhere,  Lucretia,  as  they 
often  do,  and  we  have  to  go  down?" 

"Then  we  must  just  go  down,  I  suppose!" 

"It  doesn't  sound  any  nearer — the  fire — does  it?" 

"Not  to  me!'' 

On  and  on  and  on,  in  silence.  Once  Mimi  said 
pitifully : 

"Speak  to  me  sometimes!"  And  Lucretia,  with  a 
bright  smile  on  her  streaked  pale  face,  answered,  in 
a  hoarse  whisper: 

"We  must  save  every  ounce  of  energy  we  have!" 

But  she  caught  Mimi's  hand  as  she  spoke  and  they 
stumbled  on  together. 

"Mimi,  could  you  eat?" 

"Oh,  no,  no!     My  throat  is  too  dry!" 

The  sun  was  past  the  zenith  when  they  came  to 
another  deserted  cabin,  and  here  Lucretia  decreed  a 
real  pause.  There  was  a  rough  table  near  the  door,  and 
when  Mimi  sank  down  on  the  seat  beside  it,  her  back 
against  the  cabin  wall,  her  head  sunk  on  her  arms, 
she  moaned  that  she  could  go  no  further. 

"I  feel  as  if  my  whole  body  was  my  heart,  Lucretia," 
she  whispered,  "just  one  great  throb  of  heat  and  tired- 
ness!" 

Lucretia  was  still  upon  her  feet. 

"There  is  water  here — listen!"  she  said,  her  face 
lighting  strangely  under  all  its  grime  and  weariness. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  299 

In  the  silence  both  could  hear  the  miraculous  drip- 
drip — drip. 

It  was  a  spring,  caught  by  a  rusty  length  of  pipe, 
and  falling  in  an  icy  trickle  into  a  mossy  old  half- 
barrel.  Leaves  and  twigs  clotted  the  dark  brown 
pool;  it  tasted  of  them.  But  the  two  women  did  not 
question  it,  as  they  drank  deeply,  bathed  faces  and 
hands,  and  made  their  dry  meal  palatable  with  its 
help. 

In  fifteen  minutes,  marvellously  rested  and  re- 
freshed, they  were  on  their  way  again,  flying  always 
toward  the  unknown  northwest,  with  the  air  growing 
momentarily  less  sufferable,  and  the  enemy  crouching 
and  creeping,  with  its  sinister  laughter,  and  the  licking 
of  lips,  behind  them. 

"This,"  said  Lucretia,  a  long,  long  time  later,  "is 
no  use,  I  am  afraid!" 

Their  faces  were  black  with  heat  and  looked  as  if  they 
were  bursting  with  blood.  The  thin  shirtwaists  they 
wore  were  soaked  with  perspiration,  and  the  straggling 
feathers  of  bright  hair  that  escaped  from  Lucretia's 
hat  were  plastered  against  her  forehead,  a  forehead 
scratched  by  branches,  which  dust  and  leaves  had 
streaked  and  stained  with  green  and  brown.  Mimi 
looked  ghastly,  lines  of  green-white  framed  her  mouth, 
and  her  eyes  were  blood-shot. 

She  sank  down,  when  Lucretia  spoke,  and  for  a  few 
moments  they  shared  the  seat  on  a  fallen  oak;  the 
exquisite  wood,  in  all  the  placid  beauty  of  a  summer 
afternoon,  silent  and  sweet  about  them,  and  the  fire 
always  chuckling  and  purring  behind.  Mimi  pressed 
her  hand  to  her  side,  Lucretia  dropped  her  head  into 
her  hands,  panting  deeply. 


300  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"We  must  go  on,  dear!" 

"Lucretia!"  Mimi's  blackened  lips  moved  grotes- 
quely. "I— can't!" 

"If  we  could — get — somewhere!" 

Mimi's  head  had  fallen  back  against  a  tree-trunk, 
and  she  closed  her  fevered  eyes.  Lucretia  walked  a 
few  feet  in  one  direction,  a  few  feet  in  another,  peering 
anxiously  through  the  unchanging  vistas  of  entangled 
trunks,  weaving  and  interweaving  paths  that  were 
not  paths,  rise  of  oak-carpeted  mounds,  and  crossing 
and  re-crossing  of  endless  little  hills  and  valleys.  The 
blazing  August  sunshine  was  battering  through  the 
leafy  screens  everywhere,  falling  in  bright  blots  and 
bars  wherever  her  tired  eyes  turned. 

Suddenly  an  electric  thrill  went  through  her.  Be- 
low her,  unmistakable  despite  the  years  in  which  the 
forest  had  tried  to  reclaim  it,  ran  an  old  lumber  road. 
Littered  deep  with  leaves,  disguised  by  light  growths 
of  vines  and  young  shrubs,  yet  it  was  there,  winding 
smooth  and  level  under  an  arch  of  trees,  with  here  and 
there  a  lichened  stump  to  show  where  trees  had  been 
slain  to  make  way  for  it. 

A  road!  And  more  than  a  road,  an  almost  undis- 
tinguishable  old  signboard,  where  some  lost  spur  had 
left  it  once,  for  the  buried  cabin  of  a  wood-chopper. 
Lucretia  went  close  to  the  weather-blurred  board. 

A  crude  arrow  pointed  to  the  right:  "Sonders, 
13  mi."  Another  crude  arrow  indicated  the  opposite 
direction,  "Burchisons." 

Mimi,  at  the  hoarse  sound  Lucretia  had  made  upon 
this  discovery,  had  dragged  herself  down  to  stand  be- 
side her.  Now  she  whispered,  panting,  with  her  red 
eyes  fixed  upon  her  companion: 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  301 

"We  can't — thirteen  miles!" 

Swiftly  there  flashed  before  Lucretia's  eyes  scrawled 
writing  on  a  broad  sheet  of  paper:     " Burchisons— 
Go  by  Burchisons." 

They  were  the  words  planchette  had  written  that 
night  at  the  Curran  house — the  night  when  she  and 
Mimi  had  met  first.  Was  its  message  meant  for  this 
moment?  Was  it  to  be  trusted?  Was  it  all-advised? 
— wise  to  follow? — a  mere  coincidence?  Had  it  been 
only  Mimi's  subconscious  mind  writing  meaningless 
words,  or  did  it  have  some  real  significance,  a  message 
meant  to  guide  her  in  this  supreme  hour  of  their  life? 

An  exalted  look  of  hope  came  into  her  eyes,  as  she 
took  the  left-hand  turn. 

They  could  run  now,  and  they  knew  that  they  had 
need  to  run. 

It  was  so  hot  that  the  whole  world  seemed  ablaze;  cin- 
ders stung  their  faces  like  bees.  After  awhile  Mimi  fell 
down  on  her  knees,  and  Lucretia  knelt  beside  her,  Mimi 
moaning  that  the  noise  frightened  her. 

"I  think  that  is  thunder,  Mimi,  I  don't  think  that 
is  the  fire!" 

But  Mimi  would  not  rouse  herself,  she  seemed  to  be 
in  a  feverish  sort  of  stupor.  So  presently  Lucretia 
went  on,  half-dragging  her;  there  was  no  resisting  the 
spur  of  that  hideous  noise  behind  them. 

"Nobody  could  keep  this  up,"  Lucretia  said,  out 
loud,  after  what  seemed  bewildered  days  of  pain  and 
heat  and  aching  weariness.  She  sank  down,  Mimi 
resting  against  her  knees,  and  moaning  now  and  then. 

The  fire  must  be  here — that  wall  of  dove-gray  be- 
tween the  trees  must  be  smoke.  Lucretia  looked  at  it 
many  times  before  she  saw  that  it  might  be  water,  and 


302  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

not  smoke;  it  might  be  a^little  gray  lake  high  up  in 
the  mountains.  t 

She  waded  into  it,  threw  off  her  clothes,  and  plunged 
deep  into  the  blessed  coolness  and  wetness,  and  after 
a  few  minutes  forced  Mimi  to  her  feet,  and  with  drip- 
ping hands  and  hair  drew  the  girl  to  the  reviving  bath. 

Sanity  returned,  they  could  breathe  the  furnace  air 
of  the  late  afternoon  again.  The  woods  were  growing 
dark,  a  strange  leaden  dark,  and  leaves  turned  out 
their  furry  under-sides,  and  now  and  then  the  great 
trees  rocked  violently.  The  roaring  of  the  fire  went 
on.  Red  flared  in  the  south. 

"We  couldn't  stay  under  water,  Lucretia,  while  it 
went  by?"  Mimi  whispered. 

Lucretia   shook  her  head. 

"We  would  have  to  come  up  to  breathe;  the  heat 
would  be  unendurable.  I  don't  dare,"  she  said,  clear- 
ing her  sore  throat  to  speak. 

Mimi  shut  her  eyes,  a  passive  childish  look  of  resig- 
nation smoothing  all  the  weariness  from  her  face. 

"It  must  be  quick — with  this  horrible  wind!"  Lu- 
cretia thought,  shutting  her  own  eyes.  She  settled 
Mimi  on  the  moss,  and  dragged  herself  a  few  hundred 
feet  further  along  the  road.  Nothing.  Nothing. 
Lucretia  hung  her  white  hat  on  a  conspicuous  bramble. 
They  might  find  them  more  easily  so,  when  the  heat 
was  gone,  and  the  search  began.  She  went  back, 
and  sat  down,  and  took  Mimi's  head  into  her  lap  again; 
once  brushing  a  red  cinder  from  her  skirt,  once  moving 
her  wrist  quickly  as  another  stung  her. 

After  awhile  she  thought  it  was  night,  and  that 
Stephen  was  flashing  a  blue  lantern  into  her  face. 
Blue  lights  were  everywhere. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  303 

Lucretia  roused  herself  to  pain  and  fear.  It  was  not 
over,  blessed  death  had  nflt  taken  them  yet.  Mimi 
moaned  and  stirred;  they  were  still  in  the  nightmare 
of  the  wood. 

It  was  strange  to  see  her  mother  there;  pretty,  im- 
pulsive Mama,  in  the  black  taffeta  gown  and  the  blue 
hat.  But  with  what  wonderful  eyes — eyes  brimming 
with  love  and  happiness  and  understanding,  now,  as 
Lucretia  had  never  seen  them  years  ago! 

Tears  wet  her  face.     She  put  out  her  hands. 

"Mama!  I  thought — that  day  in  Rosarios — that  you 
were  dead!"  she  whispered.  "I  don't  know  why  I'm 
crying!" 

Perhaps  it  was  not  tears,  it  was  rain.  For  it  was 
raining  like  a  cloud-burst  all  over  the  old  house  in 
Scotland,  and  battering  at  the  great  trees,  and  making 
the  fire  smoke,  and  Louisa  cough.  And  she  was  so 
utterly  exhausted  that  it  seemed  cruel  to  let  her  lie 
on  the  rough  brick  hearth,  with  hurtful  things — the 
fire-irons  perhaps! — pushing  into  her,  and  her  head 
such  a  roar  of  pain. 

Rain — splashing  and  storming  about  her,  to  a  great 
rocking  and  creaking  of  timbers.  Were  they  at  sea? 
Why  was  she  out  of  doors  in  this  uproar? 

After  that  there  was  an  even  worse  confusion.  A 
cool,  wet,  lemon-colored  light  flooded  the  wood,  and 
Mimi  roused,  and  said  with  frantic  excitement  that  they 
must  go  on.  Then  it  was  night — or  if  that  first  black- 
ness was  night,  then  this  was  a  second  night.  Night, 
and  Mimi  whimpering  in  restless  sleep,  and  Lucretia 
dozing  and  shivering  above  her.  Once  a  snarling  hairy 
animal  of  some  sort  came  close,  and  puffed  a  foul,  in- 
vestigating breath  in  her  face. 


304  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

Dawn.  This  timid  dove  and  pearl  and  pink  must  be 
God's  blessed  day  returning.  An  owl  swooped  with 
a  white  breast  close  to  the  lake;  the  morning  smote  the 
waters  to  the  color  of  molten  silver.  The  air  was  fresh, 
fragrant,  made  exquisite  with  the  songs  of  a  million 
birds. 

Mimi  would  not  move,  but  Lucretia  went  back  to 
the  road  again,  and  to  the  fork,  light-headed,  murmur- 
ing to  herself  as  she  went.  Where  had  the  fire  gone? 
She  could  no  longer  hear  it. 

They  were  on  a  draggled  white  horse,  the  man  and 
the  two  women,  and  the  little  baby.  The  man,  he 
was  a  decent  sort  of  man,  unmistakably  Russian  or 
Polish,  would  have  let  her  join  them.  But  they  could 
not  seem  to  understand  what  she  said  of  Mimi,  two 
miles  away,  and  the  women  cried  protestingly,  and  after 
awhile  their  little  cortege  vanished  up  the  road  toward 
Burchisons — wherever  Burchisons  was. 

Lucretia  went  back  to  the  lake,  and  made  no  fur- 
ther effort  to  get  away.  Mimi  was  suffering  from  fever 
and  chill,  sunburn  and  exposure;  water  did  not  seem 
the  right  treatment,  but  she  had  nothing  else. 

The  day  was  long  and  hot  again;  mosquitoes  buzzed, 
and  stuck  to  their  warm  faces.  Dragon-flies  glittered 
blue  above  the  lake;  Mimi  was  incessantly  dozing,  and 
Lucretia  felt  heavy  and  drowsy  herself — unable  to 
keep  her  eyes  open. 

Then  suddenly  the  honk  of  a  motor-car  sounded  for 
the  first  time  in  all  the  ages  through  the  wood.  Steps 
crashed  on  loose  dry  branches,  and  there  was  shouting. 

Lucretia  roused,  laid  Mimi  down  carefully,  got  to 
her  feet. 

Somebody  came  springing  toward  her,  men  in  dusty 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  305 

coats.  Between  weakness  and  joy  and  a  thousand 
mingled  and  too-poignant  emotions,  she  stumbled 
forward,  and  Stephen's  arms  were  about  her,  and  his 
face  against  hers. 

"I  separated  you,  Steve — but  now  I've  brought  her 
back  to  you  safely!"  she  whispered. 

Then  all  sensations,  confused  and  distinct,  merged 
together  for  awhile  into  blackness. 

A  bed — the  delicious  miracle  of  sheets  and  pillows 
again.  Coolness,  shadiness,  hushed  voices  and  feet. 
Far  outside,  birds  wheeling  in  the  sunset,  and  children, 
and  the  splash  of  water.  And  when  she  moved,  a 
radiation  of  anguish  through  tortured  muscles  and 
bones  and  flesh,  all  bandaged  now  in  yards  of  spotless 
white. 

"You  ain't  going  to  be  allowed  to  suffer,  Mis' 
Lombard!"  This  was  Ma  Gunther,  her  dark  old 
weather-beaten  face  placid  through  tears.  "He's  got 
a  pill  he's  going  to  give  ye!" 

It  was  her  room — how  had  she  gotten  here?  The 
familiar,  shabby,  beloved  country  bedroom  whose 
wide-open  windows  showed  the  rustling  pinnacles  of 
the  leafy  pear-trees.  She  closed  her  eyes  again. 

But  when  she  opened  them  she  was  frowning  anx- 
iously, looking  beyond  Mrs.  Gunther,  and  the  uni- 
formed nurse,  and  a  peering,  excited  woman  or  two 
in  the  doorway. 

"You  are  the  heroine  of  the  hour,  Mrs.  Lombard!" 
said  the  nurse,  in  a  pleasant,  soothing  voice. 

"Miss  Warren?"  Lucretia  struggled  to  find  her 
voice. 

"Miss  Warren,"  said  the  professional,  reassuringly, 
"is  coming  in  to  visit  you!" 


306  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"No — but  she  really  is  all  right!"  Lucretia  persisted, 
incredulously. 

"She  is,  splendidly,  just  tired,  that's  all!  But  if  you 
excite  yourself,  positively "  the  nurse  began,  warn- 


"I — at  the  end  there,  I  must  have  fainted,"  Lucretia 
explained,  apologetically. 

"At  the  end,"  said  an  unexpected  voice,  "some  of  the 
rest  of  us  were  there  to  take  up  the  job!" 

"Fred!"  Lucretia  turned,  with  a  brightening  face. 
He  was  seated  beside  her,  now  she  stretched  him  a  hand, 
even  while  she  closed  her  eyes  wearily  again.  After 
awhile  she  looked  up,  to  meet  his  watchful  gaze.  "Is 
Mimi  really  all  right?"  she  whispered.  "What — 
what  time  is  it?" 

"Seven  o'clock.  We  picked  you  up  about  one, 
brought  you  in  here  an  hour  later.  Mimi's  awake, 
and  wants  to  come  in,  but  the  doctor  says  you  must 
have  some  milk  first!" 

"Oh,  anything !"     She  emptied  the  long  glass 

as  obediently  as  a  child,  and  watched  like  a  happy 
child  the  arrangement  of  a  great  chair  lined'  with 
pillows  and  comforters. 

Mimi  came  in  laughing  shakily  and  hoarsely,  carried 
like  a  baby  in  Stephen's  big  arms.  When  she  and 
Lucretia  saw  each  other  both  began  to  cry,  and  as  Mrs. 
Gunther  and  the  nurse  heartily,  if  smilingly,  joined 
them,  and  the  tears  communicated  themselves  to  the 
women  in  the  halls,  it  was  some  moments  before  the 
good  effects  of  the  little  visit  could  show  themselves. 

But  then  Mimi  held  tight  to  Stephen's  hand,  and  Fred 
to  Lucretia's,  and  somehow  the  terrible  story  got  itself 
reviewed,  to  a  chorus  of  thrilled  comment. 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  307 

They  had  been  given  up  for  lost,  of  course,  and  the 
circumstances  of  Mimi's  marriage,  followed  so  swiftly 
by  the  old  Judge's  death 

Yes,  Uncle  Sam  was  gone.  His  loyal  little  niece 
buried  her  head  in  Stephen's  shoulder  for  a  moment 
when  she  heard  that  the  losing  fight  was  over. 

Uncle  Sam  was  gone;  Aunt  Bessy's  grief  had  had  a 
wholesome  tonic  in  this  terror  for  Mimi.  For  all  the 
city,  and  through  the  press  all  the  great  world,  knew 
now  that  popular  and  pretty  Miss  Warren  had  been 
married  in  the  sick-room  only  a  few  days  ago,  and  had 
gone  up  to  the  mountain  cabin  for  various  important 
matters,  and  had  been  trapped  there,  with  her  friend 
Mrs.  Allen  Lombard,  and  was  lost! 

And  to-morrow  all  the  world  would  know  that  the 
two  Winships  with  a  hundred  other  fire-fighters  had  had 
news  of  the  two  women,  news  given  sparsely  by  a  half- 
demented  Pole,  who  had  gotten  his  own  women  safe 
through  fire  and  storm,  and  that  the  District  Attorney 
and  his  brother  had  torn  like  maniacs  through  the 
ruined  woods,  straight  to  the  lakeside  where  the  ex- 
hausted women  were. 

"And  I  told  them — told  three  of  the  reporters," 
Mimi  said,  "that  it  was  you,  Lucretia — all  you  !  I 
told  them  that  I  broke  down,  and  that  you  made  me 
go  on,  found  water  for  us,  dragged  me — miles,  Steve! 
down  that  horrible  hill,  to  the  lake,  and  kept  bathing 
my  face  all  night!" 

"And  the  Pole  told  us  that  you  wouldn't  leave  her, 
Lucretia,"  Stephen  said,  his  gray  eyes  smiling,  though 
his  face  was  wet  with  tears,  "that  you  went  back!" 

Lucretia  tried  to  smile,  too,  but  her  lips — blackened 
and  split  and  bleeding — trembled,  and  as  she  shut  her 


308  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

eyes  the  tears  started  from  under  the  brown  lashes, 
and  they  saw  her  put  up  her  cut  and  swollen  hand, 
with  its  criss-crossed  bandages,  and  press  it  against 
them. 

"You  girls  will  be  famous  the  rest  of  your  lives!" 
Ma  Gunther  predicted,  wiping  her  glasses.  "It's 
going  to  be  the  making  of  me,  reporters  and  dear  knows 
what  all,  running  round  the  place!  We  had  our  own 
scare,  Mis'  Lombard,  and  most  of  my  folks  got  out! 
Fire  came  right  down  to  the  top  of  Dick's  place,  and 
I  had  my  silver  and  Ma's  bedspreads  packed,  I  c'n 
tell  you!" 

Lucretia  blinked  through  tears. 

"To — to-morrow  I'll  beat  you  at  Halma!"  she  said. 

But  there  was  a  look  in  her  face  that  Stephen  did 
not  like,  and  late  that  night  he  spoke  of  it  to  one  of 
the  several  doctors  who  had  been  only  too  anxious  to 
serve  the  refugees.  This  was  Mimi's  own  physician, 
Doctor  Sayre,  who  loved  all  the  family  as  if  it  had  been 
his  own. 

"Doctor,  did  you  think  there  was  anything  odd  in 
the  expression  of  those  girls'  eyes?" 

"Fright — strain — yes,  that's  natural,  Steve.  I  gave 
Mimi  a  heart  stimulant;  the  pulse  was  not  very  strong." 

"Mrs.  Lombard  didn't  need  one?" 

"Oh,  no.  Of  the  two,  she  has  stood  it  far  better 
than  Mimi  has!" 

"Better!    Why,  Mimi  was  up!" 

"Yes,  but  there  was  shock.  Severe  shock.  I  let 
her  go  into  Mrs.  Lombard's  room  because  it  was  better 

than  having  her  alone!  I  don't "  The  concern 

in  Stephen's  face  interrupted  the  doctor.  "I  don't 
anticipate  anything  serious,  Steve,"  he  said.  "But 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  309 

of  course  the  mother,  and  the  father,  too,  had  that 
same  heart  weakness.  As  I  say,  I've  given  her  a 
sedative — a  nurse  is  with  her.  But  all  her  life,  Ste- 
phen, I've  watched  her  against  strain.  Never  let 
her  skate  too  much;  a  hundred  times  I've  had  your 
aunt  stop  her  dancing!" 

"Mimi!"  Stephen  said,  aghast. 

"My  boy,  I  am  sorry  to  frighten  you.  I  know  what 
she  means  to  you — your  wife.  But  you  must  help 
me  in  the  same  work — no  strain,  Steve.  She's  never 
had  it — 'she's  never  had  a  serious  illness,  bless  her 
heart!  She  never  need  have.  But  this  has  been  a 
terrible  experience  for  her!" 

The  doctor  brushed  the  ashes  from  his  cigar;  drew 
in  a  great  cool  breath  of  the  country  night. 

"You  may  go  to  Washington,  Steve — keep  her  quiet. 
She'll  grieve  for  her  uncle — that's  natural.  There's 
a  splendid  constitution  there,  but  no  particular  re- 
serve!" 

Profoundly  uneasy,  Stephen  slipped  upstairs,  to 
the  dimly  lighted  upper  hall.  The  nurse,  filled  with 
a  satisfying  sense  of  the  romance  of  all  this,  tiptoed 
to  the  door,  whispered  reassuringly. 

"Miss  Warren — but  I  mean  Mrs.  Winship,  of 
course! — is  nicely  asleep.  She  had  the  soup,  and  went 
right  off.  And  that's  the  best  thing  in  the  world 
for  her!" 

He  went  on,  to  Lucretia's  door.  It  was  late  night, 
she  had  been  asleep,  and  she  was  awake  again.  The 
glory  of  her  hair  alone  was  unchanged,  to  him  the 
wrapped,  disfigured  face  and  puffed  hands  were  full 
of  exquisite  appeal.  The  nurse,  with  the  inevitable 
murmur  regarding  milk,  slipped  out;  they  were  alone. 


310  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

"I  sleep,  but  I  keep  hearing  that  frightful  crack- 
ling!" Lucretia  murmured.  He  touched  her  hand 
lightly,  over  the  white  dressings.  He  could  not  speak. 

"Steve,  it's  so  good  to  be  alive  again,  and  life  is  so 
sweet — just  life!"  she  added.  "Just  railway  trains 
and  spring  and  children — people  to  love  and  serve! 
I  shall  never  want  anything  but — just  breath — again. 
It  was  all  burned  out  of  me,  that  horrible  night,  when  I 
was  so  wet,  and  so  cold,  and  yet  burning  up!  Now 
I  can  just  lie  here  resting,  Steve — it  seems  to  me  I  will 
never  be  rested  enough! — and  be  happy  knowing  that 
you  are  happy,  and  that — I  helped!" 

Stephen  had  knelt  down  beside  the  bed,  and  on  the 
fingers  his  own  held  so  gently  she  felt  the  quick  hot 
touch  of  tears.  The  amber  eyes,  filled  with  the  little 
golden  glints  and  sparkles  of  light,  were  smiling  at  him 
from  under  the  white  coif,  a  filmy  spray  of  gold-brown 
hair  had  escaped  from  the  narrow  bands. 

"It's  better  this  way,"  she  said,  "much,  much  better 
so!  And  for  me  it's  enough,  Steve,  to  love  you  as  I 
do — and  to  have  that,  always,  the  knowledge  that  we 
found  each  other,  just — just  as  George  and  Grace 
did!" 

The  wonderful,  bell-like  tones  died  away  into  silence; 
Stephen  still  looked  down,  his  fine  face  grave,  his  mouth 
firm. 

"Don't,  dear!"  he  said,  finally,  giving  her  his  kind, 
keen  smile.  And  looking  at  him,  her  eyes  misted  with 
tears;  Lucretia  wondered  what  made  this  particular, 
serious,  tender  man  so  infinitely  lovable,  made  his 
silences  so  eloquent,  and  his  least  word  so  poignant 
and  so  touching.  He  looked  tired  to-night,  and  with, 
good  reason;  she  longed  to  put  her  arms  about  his 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  Sll 

neck,  and  have  the  smoothly  brushed  crest  of  hair 
rest  against  her  cheek. 

But  she  might  never  do  that  again.  Never  again. 
Another  woman  would  hear  the  pleasant  voice,  and 
catch  the  kindly,  quizzical  smile,  another  woman  would 
have  the  right  to  scold  him,  when  this  familiar,  dear 
gray  suit  grew  just  a  little  shabbier,  and  drive  him  to 
his  tailor. 

"You're  not  in  pain,  dear?" 

<rNo.  Just  tired!  Did  I  make  a  frightful  fuss  on 
the  drive  home?" 

"Moaned  now  and  then.  Fred  was  holding  Mimi, 
you  know, — and  I  had  you.  It  just  happened  so!" 

"I  knew — that  I  was  in  your  arms!"  she  said,  dream- 
ily.   And   after  a  long  silence  she  added,  wistfully, 
"Steve — what  is  it  like,  when  it  all  goes  right?     If— 
if  there  was  nothing  for  us  to  do  now  but — but  love 
each  other!" 

He  looked  down  at  the  disfigured  hand,  she  saw  the 
muscles  of  his  throat  move. 

"Ah,  don't !"  he  said. 

There  was  no  other  word  between  them  until  the 
nurse  came  in  with  the  milk;  Lucretia  drank  it  docilely, 
so  rapidly  that  the  warm  liquid  filmed  the  clear  glass. 
Then  Stephen  smiled  at  her,  and  went  away,  envying 
the  nurse,  as  he  went,  the  privilege  of  those  murmured 
words,  the  privilege  of  that  golden-brown,  weary 
smile. 

He  stopped  at  Mimi's  door  for  a  satisfactory  re- 
port. Still  sleeping.  But  Doctor  Sayre  did  not  go  to 
bed,  and  Stephen  kept  him  company  on  the  dark  porch. 
The  moon  rose  late,  the  two  men  smoked  and  chatted 
quietly.  They  talked  of  the  fire,  the  panic-stricken 


312  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

army  of  fighters,  the  straggling  refugees.  And  again 
and  again  they  reviewed  the  hideous  search  for  their 
own  two  fire-trapped  women,  the  fears,  the  almost 
equally  terrible  hope  that  sprang  up  with  the  first 
words  of  the  escaping  Pole. 

"A  wonderful  woman,  Mrs.  Lombard.  There  is  no 
question  that  she  saved  them  both!  She  deserves  a 
great  deal  of  praise,"  the  doctor  said.  Stephen  did 
not  speak.  "Beautiful,  too!"  the  doctor  added. 

Silence.  It  was  after  midnight;  there  was  not  a 
sound  on  the  place  except  their  own  murmuring  voices. 

Suddenly  Stephen  moved, glistened — the  hallway 
light  showing  his  perturbed  face  as  he  turned.  A  door 
had  slammed  upstairs.  Footsteps  were  running  lightly 
down. 

"Hel — loo!"  the  doctor  said,  instantly  alert. 

It  was  Mimi's  nurse,  breathless  and  frightened,  who 
came  to  them. 

"What  is  it?"  the  doctor  asked  quickly. 

"Mrs.  Winship,  Doctor!  You  said  to  give  her  the 
stimulant  at  half-past  twelve!" 

"She's  still  sleeping?" 

"Yes,  Doctor,  like  a  child,  she  hasn't  stirred. 
But — but  I  can't  seem  to  rouse  her.  I  wish — will  you 
come  up  ? " 

They  were  all  three  flying  upstairs  even  as  she  spoke; 
there  was  that  in  her  voice  that  could  not  be  mistaken. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

SHE  had  gone  quietly  in  her  sleep,  as  her  mother  had 
died  before  her,  twenty  years  ago.  There  was  a  smile 
on  the  gipsy  face  they  all  loved,  there  was  utter  peace 
and  rest  in  every  line  of  the  relaxed  young  figure. 
The  fingers  of  one  hand  still  touched  the  cheek  she 
had  turned  in  to  the  pillow;  and  Stephen's  throat 
constricted  bitterly  when  the  nurse  whispered  to  him 
that  his  wife  had  said  drowsily  only  an  hour  or  two  ago, 
that  she  was  "so  comfy!" 

He  had  heard  her  use  the  phrase  a  hundred  times. 
He  stood  looking  down  at  her,  his  arms  folded  over  the 
deep  ache  in  his  heart,  and  his  memory  busy  with  all 
the  dear,  confiding  Mimis  who  had  danced  and  chat- 
tered their  way  through  his  life.  How  she  had  lived, 
this  silent  smiling  girl,  whose  brown  hand  still  wore 
the  new  wedding-ring,  under  his  mother's  diamond! 
Happy,  protected,  never  knowing  what  sorrow  or 
shadow  was  in  all  the  adored  twenty-two  years, 
until  this  complication  of  love  and  doubt  had  en- 
tered. 

This  afternoon,  only  this  afternoon,  when  she  had 
seemed  so  well  and  so  bright,  she  had  kept  him  at  her 
bedside  for  a  long  talk.  Lucretia  was  lying  semi- 
conscious in  her  own  room,  then,  murmuring  and 
moaning.  But  Mimi  had  been  so  instantly  revived, 
so  sure  of  recovery! 

And  there  in  the  plain  country  bedroom  she  had  told 

313 


314  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

him  everything:  of  her  talk  with  Lucretia  at  the  cabin, 
of  her  new  comprehension  and  understanding,  of  her 
promise  for  the  new  life. 

And  being  Mimi,  used  all  her  life  to  winning  what- 
ever she  wanted,  she  had  clasped  her  fingers  in  his,  at 
the  end,  and  smiled  at  him  half-pleadingly  and  half- 
saucily. 

"Steve,  how  can  I  blame  you  for  loving  her?"  she 
had  asked.  "She  is  adorable.  And  some  day  she'll 
come  back  and  be  our  friend,  and  you'll  see  how  generous 
I  can  be!  We  both  understand  you — that's  what 
makes  it  so  much — easier  for  me.  We  both  love  you 
because  you're  such  a  darling,  blundering,  oblivious 
sort  of  person,  wrapped  up  in  work,  and  letting — 
letting  us  manage  you,  Steve!  And  some  day,  when- 
well,  I  know  when!"  Mimi  had  smiled  mysteriously. 
"You  are  going  to  love  me  better  than  any  one  else  in 
the  world!" 

"You  are  very  cunning,  it  is  not  hard  to  love  you!" 
he  had  answered.  This  would  be  her  attitude,  this 
his  response,  forever  and  forever.  What  she  would  not 
see,  and  would  not  believe,  need  never  hurt  her. 
And  perhaps — there  was  always  the  impossible  hy- 
pothesis to  consider  in  his  lawyer's  mind — perhaps  she 
was  right! 

And  now  she  was  gone;  and  they  had  all  slipped 
out  of  the  room,  to  leave  him  alone  "with  his 
grief." 

When  he  came  out  an  hour  later,  he  was  white-faced, 
tired,  composed.  He  must  drive  to  Sanbridge  at  once, 
where  Fred  was,  with  Mrs.  Curran,  and  break  this 
terrible  news  to  his  aunt.  The  doctor  went  with  him, 
discoursing  upon  the  long  way  gravely  but  controlledly 


LUCRETIA  LOMBARD  315 

of  heart  attack  following  shock  or  strain.  Only  once 
was  Lucretia's  name  mentioned. 

"There  is  a  seasoned  woman;  she  has  faced  emer- 
gencies before,"  the  doctor  said.  "She  is  to  have  her 
sleep  out — she  has  a  magnificent  constitution.  Mrs. 
Gunther  has  promised  me  to  tell  her,  as  best  she  can 
in  the  morning " 

Stephen  made  no  comment.  In  the  last  few  days 
his  world  had  fallen  about  his  ears. 

But  after  the  earthquake  and  fire,  creeping  up  into 
his  emptied  heart,  came  the  word.  It  came  months 
afterward;  when  the  Curran  house  was  long  sold,  when 
tf  pallid,  quiet  little  black-veiled  Aunt  Bessy,  who  lived 
with  Mrs.  Porter,  had  taken  the  place  of  the  rotund  and 
complacent  Mrs.  Curran,  and  when  the  February 
snows  were  deep  upon  the  two  new  graves.  Fred, 
basking  in  Brazilian  heat,  had  had  time  to  send  many 
letters,  and  sometimes  in  them  was  transmitted  a  word 
of  Lucretia,  in  Paris.  She  was  well,  she  was  busy,  her 
translation  of  the  old  doctor's  poems  had  been  accepted, 
—that  was  all  that  Stephen's  heart  had  to  feed  upon 
for  many  long  months. 

And  then  came  the  word.  It  came  on  a  quiet 
wintry  morning,  with  a  wind  whirling  dry  snow  over 
the  packed  drifts,  and  a  gray  sky  promising  more 
snow.  In  the  adjoining  office  typewriters  were  clicking, 
radiators  hummed  and  lisped  in  every  silence.  District 
Attorney  Winship,  now  Senator-elect,  was  extremely 
busy  when  the  mail  came  in — the  few  letters  marked 
"personal." 

He  took  them  up,  his  heart  hammered.  The  whole 
world  turned  round  him  dizzily  as  he  took  the  familiar 


316  LUCRETIA  LOMBARD 

limp  square  envelope  in  his  hand.     Postmarked  "San- 
bridge."     She  was  here! 

"Steve,  dear,  I  arrived  at  the  rectory  last  night.  Han- 
nah had  everything  in  perfect  order.  Could  you  come  to 
me  at  four  o'clock  for  a  cup  of  tea?" 

He  reached  for  his  telephone,  cleared  his  throat, 
laughed  gruffly  in  the  winter  warmth  of  the  office. 
But  the  receiver  was  shaking  like  an  aspen  in  his  hand. 

THE  END 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 

Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


n  *> 


^ 


AUG6" 


BEC'DLD 


LD2lA-50m-2,'71 
(P2001slO)476 — A-32 


Get 
Univer 


B  681 16 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


